


'...looking for my heart's desire'

by kiashyel



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:19:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiashyel/pseuds/kiashyel
Summary: It's only a few days before Valentine's Day when the S.H.I.E.L.D. and U.N.I.T. partnership begins. That's when Steve Rogers meets Doctor Martha Jones. A friendship quickly forms but how long until something more begins to surface?A story told via holiday encounters.





	1. Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Set soon after the events of _The Avengers (2012)_. For the sake of convenience, Steve and the other Avengers mostly live out of the Tower.

It started with Strawberry Ice Cream Day. It was one of those trivial made up holidays of no consequence but, on a whim, Tony had trucked in an overwhelming number of gallons of strawberry ice cream on January fifteenth. Seeing to what extremes Thor went to celebrate the event Tony continued to add the nonsense “holidays” to the calendar. 

Four days later was Popcorn Day. Three days after that was Hot Sauce Day which inevitably led to the Clint Barton challenging the Norse god to drink shots of ghost pepper hot sauce. Work Naked Day was quickly vetoed by nearly everyone at the Tower but Bagel and Lox Day was happily celebrated by all.

Later, Steve would remember that it was Make a Friend Day, three days before Valentine’s Day, when the U.N.I.T. agents arrived for the partnership with S.H.I.E.L.D. That was the day he met Martha Jones. 

He was the only one of the team at the Tower that day. Thor had made a trip back to Asgard, Natasha and Clint were at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, and Tony and Bruce were at an off-site lab running experiments. So when the U.N.I.T. officers arrived and asked to speak with the person in charge, it fell to Steve to meet with them. There were three women and two men in the group when Steve walked into the conference room.

A tall blonde woman in business dress and a trench coat approached, her hand outstretched. “Kate Stuart,” she said. “Apparently some people thought that, given our expertise with alien related matters and your lot having just recently saved New York from aliens, our organizations would make a good pair for the time being. I’m the official liaison for U.N.I.T. If you have any trouble with my people, come see me and I’ll handle the matter.

“We have a few tactical officers in place here and in D.C. to train the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in diplomatic and defensive techniques. My team consists of myself, my assistant Osgood, biochemist Dr Jeffrey Sherwood, astrophysicist Dr. Blake Barrett, and Dr. Martha Jones, our Chief Medical Officer.”

“Doctors,” Steve greeted as he shook each offered hand. “I look forward to getting to know each of you, though I don’t know much about physics or biochemistry.”

“You might find Martha particularly resourceful,” Osgood piped up. “Her travel experience gives her unique insights into several races of aliens.”

“Several?” Steve glanced to Dr. Jones. “How many alien races have you encountered?” 

“Too many to count,” she told him. “Each has its own distinctive existence in various corners of the universe but many of them have been to Earth for one reason or another.”

Steve felt a little shaken by her answer. He studied her for a moment. She wore black trousers and a white blouse under a purple cardigan, small heeled black boots, and her dark hair was pulled back in a no nonsense manner. She projected an air of calm authority but Steve saw a twinkle of mischief in her brown eyes.

“Most people have heard of at least one alien event over the past forty five or so years but given your unique situation, Captain Rogers, it’s likely you’re unaware of the frequency with which alien races come to Earth,” Martha said. At the suddenly wary expression that flickered over his face, she told him, “I only know what I read in your S.H.I.E.L.D. file. You’ll be given ours soon enough, I expect. If you have any questions about my sordid past, I’m happy to provide answers.” Martha smiled warmly and Steve was put at ease.

“Well,” he said and gestured to the door, “let me give you the tour.”

Steve took the U.N.I.T. group through the next several floors of the Tower and then handed them off to one of Tony’s administrative people to get them set up in their respective labs. 

“Doctors, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m happy to have you on our team,” he told them as he began to make his departure.

“Oh Captain Rogers,” Martha looked up from the tablet she’d been tapping on, “I’m scheduling you for your physical three days from now, if that’s all right.”

“Physical?”

“Yes, I’ll be conducting physicals on each you. We have your S.H.I.E.L.D. files but I need a more current assessment for my work. I’ve just set appointments with your colleagues. I’ll begin seeing you in turn just as soon as my rooms have been set up.”

“Three days will be fine Doctor Jones,” he acquiesced. “Have a good day. And welcome to New York.”

So it was on Valentine’s Day that Steve found himself at Martha Jones’s mercy as she guided him through a battery of tests and physical challenges. 

“Impressive,” she said as he stepped off a treadmill. She clicked her pen and made a notation on his chart. 

“So tell me Doc, am I going to live?” he asked.

“Barely,” she smirked at him over the top of her clipboard. “It was a close call. Good thing I called you in here when I did. Another few minutes and you would’ve been a goner.” 

Martha gestured for him to follow her out of the examination suite and into her office. Once they were seated on opposite sides of her desk, she asked, “What number comes next in the following sequence - two, six, ten, thirty, thirty-four?”

“One hundred and two,” Steve answered after a brief moment.

“I’m going to list five words and I’d like you to repeat them back to me. Blue, phantom, rope, integrity, church.”

Steve repeated the words.

She ran him through a few more cognitive assessment questions before they were interrupted by an alert tone sounding from his phone. He apologized for the interruption then checked the message. It was from Clint. They were being called to handle a situation. 

Steve promptly rose from his seat. “I’m sorry Doctor Jones, I have to-“

“It’s all right,” she told him. “Just repeat those five words for me again.”

“Blue, phantom, rope, integrity, church,” he listed.

With a faint smile, Martha stamped his chart. “Voila. You passed with flying colors. And just to make you aware, I’m ordering some minor tech be placed in your suit so that I can record your vitals during combat situations. Not just you, but for the entire team. We doctors very much like our data.” She waved a hand at him and said in a jovial tone, “Now off you get. Be safe. Save the world. Send me a postcard.”

Steve inclined his head. “Doctor Jones.”

Martha brought two fingers to her temple and gave a minor salute. “Captain Rogers.” 

With that, Steve departed and Martha turned to her computer to enter his updated medical data.

Steve was caught off guard late that evening when he returned to the examination suite in search of first aid supplies and found she was still at work.

“Sneaking in here to steal my supplies, were you?” she said, startling him as he opened one of the cabinets. 

Steve turned to face her. She’d removed her white coat and stood before him in black trousers and an indigo colored sweater. Her heeled boots had made no sound as she’d approached.

“Are you sure you’re not an agent? Because you could give some trained assassins a lesson in stealth,” he commented.

“I’ve had a lot of practice at being invisible,” she told him cryptically. “Now sit yourself down and let me assess the damage.”

While she pulled on a pair of latex gloves, he clambered onto the exam table. She touched his face where he had a small gash and a blooming bruise and pressed on his cheekbone and brow.

“Tender?”

He shrugged. “It’s not too bad.”

“Yes, it appears mostly superficial but I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t a fracture. Now lift up that shirt and let me see your side.”

He did as she asked, grabbing the shirt where the oblong bloodstain stood out in stark contrast to the white fabric. She sucked air through her teeth and winced at the sight of the wound.

“Ouch,” Martha commented. “Now that one must hurt.”

“This one does, yeah,” he told her.

“Well, it’s a long cut but only really did damage here,” she held out her thumb and forefinger to measure the middle of the gash. “Three or four stitches should do it. Any other injuries that need attention?”

“Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

“Right then. Let’s get you stitched up so that you can go meet your valentine,” she pulled off the gloves and began to rummage through cabinets and drawers.

“I don’t have one,” Steve said.

“Sorry?” Martha turned her attention back to him.

“I don’t have a valentine,” he reiterated, “so no plans to get to or anything.” A long silence hung in the air before he asked, “What about you? Have you got someone back home?”

He watched as she froze for a second, her face falling for the briefest instant before recomposing into a detached expression. 

“Nope,” she replied. “I, uh, I just got out of a long relationship actually.”

Steve mentally cursed himself for trying to make small talk. 

Martha’s mind flashed to the night a month earlier when she broke off her engagement. She’d been waiting at the kitchen table, her ring sitting before her in its box, and Tom’s meager belongings packed by the door. They had a row when he got home. She yelled at him that she was tired of being second best in their relationship, that she was weary of waiting for him to come home from saving the world in far flung corners of the earth. 

She had given him four years, stayed in a holding pattern, waiting for him to actually commit to his commitment to her and settle into the family she was ready to make with him. Several months previous, she had finally forced him to set a date for the wedding and in that time he’d never mentioned it again or asked what plans she was making for their special day, as if he’d just pop in to quickly say his vows and then fly off to some impoverished country to dole out health care. 

He had shouted at her that she was being selfish. Didn’t she know the good he was doing with Doctors Without Borders? Didn’t she care about the sacrifices he made in order to help the sick and wretched people of the world? He ranted that she could have been saving the world with him, the two of them working side by side, if she’d only give up her “cushy job giving flu shots at U.N.I.T..” 

She’d bodily shoved him out into the hallway then, thrown the ring and his bags out with him, and then slid against the door she’d slammed and crumpled into a heap of tears. He’d never understood her work, never cared to understand it. She had stayed in their lopsided relationship for too long, desperately pouring all of herself into it while hoping for some magical cure all, and she had finally come up empty. 

Martha cleared her throat to shake herself out of her reverie and pulled on a new pair of gloves. She held up a small hypodermic and said, “Little sting here.”

Steve accepted the lidocaine injection and sat quietly while she closed his wound with three spidery black stitches. 

“Those’ll be tight and tender for a bit,” she said of the stitches as she pulled a butterfly suture over the cut on his cheekbone. “I know with your regenerative properties it won’t take long to heal so come back to me the day after tomorrow and let me take a look. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said and it earned him a smile.

Snapping off the latex gloves, Martha went to a cabinet and then, after a moment of fiddling, handed him two pain relievers in a small plastic cup.

“Take these” she directed. “May not help much but it’ll dull the edges at least.”

Steve swallowed the pills, handed her back the cup, and said, “Am I good to go?”

“Free and clear,” Martha said. “Unless you’d like to stay here and help me unload boxes of supplies.”

A slight smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. “I think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same,” he told her and slid off the exam table. 

Standing, he gave a small stretch to test his stitches then grabbed his tactical bag and headed for the door. His hand was on the knob when he stopped suddenly and turned back to face her.

“Sorry Doctor Jones, I almost forgot,” Steve unzipped an exterior pocket of his bag, pulled something out, and slid it across the counter toward her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he flashed her a dry grin and then departed.

Martha finished dumping the used medical supplies into their requisite disposal containers then took a few quick steps across the room. She curiously peered down at the countertop and saw a postcard bearing a photo of the Statue of Liberty, warped in the middle with one creased corner. She smiled and picked up the card. Turning it over, she read the scrawled words “Wish you were here.”

Smiling even wider, Martha strode into her adjoining office and pinned the postcard to the corkboard beside her desk.


	2. Arbor Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"If it's not too late for coffee, I'll be at your place in ten. We'll hit that all night diner and then we'll see..."_   
>  _\--- Coffee by Copeland_

Steve was tired. He’d gone for a long run first thing in the morning and then spent a few hours training before he and some of the rest of the team had been volunteered to help Tony with an Arbor Day planting project for the city. 

It had been an Avengers and U.N.I.T. takedown of a few men who’d gotten their hands on some alien tech that had caused the fire in the park to begin with so, Steve surmised, it was only fair that the Avengers and U.N.I.T. help plant new trees. 

What wasn’t fair was how Steve had been the only one of the assembled Avengers actually planting the trees. Tony had supervised the distributing of cupcakes to the crowd. Clint was surprisingly good with children and kept wandering off to play games with the kids. Natasha had vanished before the first shovelful of dirt had been overturned.

Now it was sometime after ten p.m. and, walking toward the Tower, Steve was ready for a quiet evening away from the world. Then, a familiar, pleasant voice rang out, “Hello Captain Rogers!” 

Steve blinked and focused his attention to the Tower’s entrance where he saw Doctor Martha Jones exiting the building. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her stylish leather jacket, she walked toward him with a smile. Steve returned the smile and altered his path to approach her. 

“Hello Doctor Jones,” he greeted. 

“My, aren’t you dirty,” she laughed. “What have you been doing today?”

“The Arbor Day planting,” he answered. He knitted his brows in a stern expression, “It was a joint S.H.I.E.L.D.-U.N.I.T. event. Did you play hooky, Doctor Jones?”

“In a manner of speaking. I got the email about the event but I was in London. I actually just got back about an hour ago. I’ve been trying to get someone to venture out into the city with me but everyone’s more interested in staying home for the night. What about you, Captain? Care to join me?”

“Ehh,” Steve hedged. He wasn’t really looking for a night on the town.

Almost as if she were reading his mind, Martha reached out and touched her hand to his arm, “I’m not after partying or anything rambunctious. I’m after a cup of coffee and food that I’ll regret. I want to eat something that I would scold my patients for eating, full of salt and grease and cheese. I just spent a full week with my mum and her kale salads and tofu smoothies, my arteries are too clean. Please Captain, help out a desperate woman.”

Steve chuckled. “Isn’t it a bit late for coffee?”

“Blasphemy!” Martha gasped. “It’s never too late for coffee. Besides, I’m fighting jet lag. I’ve gotta stay awake for awhile longer. Come on,” she cajoled. “Come with me. It’ll be good for you to go out on a school night. A little rebellion is healthy. I promise I’ll have you home before daylight.”

Steve looked into her imploring eyes for a long moment. He pressed his lips together in a thin line of contemplation. “There’s an all night diner a few blocks from here,” he told her. 

“YES!” Martha crowed and Steve laughed. She reached out to brush some of the dirt from his t-shirt and said, “You run up and have a change and then we’ll hit that all night diner. And thank you Captain.” 

Steve did as he was told and hustled up to his quarters to wash the dirt from his face and arms and to dress himself in a fresh t-shirt and jeans before shrugging on his brown leather jacket and, on a whim, putting his small sketchpad and pencils in the pocket. 

He and Martha talked amiably as they walked the four blocks to the restaurant where a red neon sign declared “Jason’s All Nite Diner. Full Menu Served All Day.” Steve held open the door then followed Martha to a corner booth with a view of the entire place. 

The booths and chairs were upholstered with slick, shiny red vinyl and the tables were off white Formica with flecks of golden yellow. The black and white checkerboard tile had worn with age and neglect to the point that the white tiles were a grimy blackish gray and the black tiles were scuffed and faded white. The air was thick with the smell of grease, over cooked eggs and a sharp whiff of vinegar. Overall, the place looked shabby and just a shade above sketchy but Steve, having stopped in for breakfast a time or two, knew the food to be good.

A waitress named Ellie poured two cups of black coffee and handed them each an extensive menu to peruse. Steve sipped his coffee, quickly found his order, then he sat amused as he watched Martha dump seven sugar packets into her coffee and then ooh and ahh over the descriptions in the menu. 

When Ellie returned, Steve ordered a cheeseburger and fries. Martha placed her order, “I’ll take the Garbage Pail with wheat toast and a fried egg.” 

Ellie raised an eyebrow, slowly looked Martha up and down, jotted down the order on her notepad, then departed.

“What on earth is the Garbage Pail?” Steve wondered aloud, suddenly wishing he still had a menu before him.

“‘Fried potatoes piled high with pulled pork, ground sausage, country ham and crispy bacon, topped with made from scratch brown gravy and American cheese. Comes with two sides.’” Martha recited.

“Don’t doctors take an oath to do no harm?” he teased, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. “Shouldn’t you know better than to eat all that junk?”

Martha scoffed, “Please. The doctor I shadowed during my internship ate bacon at every meal and made Winston Churchill look as skinny as Keira Knightley. He harmed himself plenty and I’m gonna follow his example for one night. There’s nothing wrong with a little indulgence now and then. So,” she took a breath. “I’ve been in London for two weeks, arguing by turns with my mum and U.N.I.T.’s bean counters. Catch me up. What’s been going on at the Tower? How are you doing these days? What’s the next bonkers holiday Tony is forcing everyone to celebrate?”

“Pretzel Day,” Steve answered her last question first. “And I’m sure there will just be smorgasbord of pretzels available in every flavor imaginable and unimaginable.”

“I saw that Batman Day was coming up on the calendar but it’s been removed. Any idea what prompted that?”

Steve rolled his eyes and gave a groan. “It was mostly Barton.”

Martha took a long drink of her coffee then made a frantic motion with her hand. “Well come on,” she waved. “I need to hear this.” 

Steve sighed then launched into the explanation. “Thor saw it on the calendar and asked who Batman was. So Stark tells him,” Steve launched into a terrible impersonation of Tony, “‘Some say he’s like a fictional version of myself, a billionaire playboy philanthropist who dons a suit to fight crime and right the wrongs of injustice.’” 

Martha threw her head back and laughed, loud and carefree, not worried at all what the few other diners might think. 

Steve felt the warmth of good feelings spread through his chest and he grinned widely as he continued, “And it was at that point that Barton started pointing out the ways that Bruce Wayne and Batman were better than Stark and Iron Man. It went on for days until Tony finally removed it from the calendar. There’s apparently a growing contingent of people who plan to celebrate it anyway.” 

“Led by Barton, I imagine?”

Drinking his coffee, Steve nodded in the affirmative. 

Martha laughed loudly again. “Well he can count me in,” she said. “Not only because it’s hilarious but because, as I think the world will agree, Batman is way cooler than Iron Man.”

“Oh definitely,” Steve said with a smile. 

The waitress, Ellie, came by the refill their coffees and delivered their meals a few minutes after that.

“There’s no way you can eat all that,” Steve gestured to the obscene amount of food that had been placed in front of Martha.

“Not all but certainly most, Captain,” she said and stuck her fork into the meat laden dish. Steve watched her take the first bite and she made a small noise of satisfaction. 

Steve chuckled. “You don’t have to keep calling me Captain. You can call me Steve.”

“Same goes for you,” she told him. “You can stop with the Doctor Jones and call me Martha.”

They tucked into their dinners and shared a companionable silence, interrupted only by occasional small talk.

When they were finished and their plates whisked away and their coffees refilled, Martha said, “We started talking about Batman Day and never circled back to the other questions I asked. What’s been going on at the Tower?”

Steve took a sip then reached into the pocket of his jacket and removed the small sketchbook and a pencil. He flipped open the pad and began to sketch their waitress, Ellie, as he spoke. 

“A lot of the usual,” he said. “Training, arguing with Fury, more training.”

“Training is about all you do, isn’t it?”

“When I’m not being dragged to civic events like today or catching up on the decades of history I missed.” 

“So you don’t ever get out like tonight, like we’ve done?”

“Not usually. But this doctor I know convinced me it would be beneficial to my health,” he looked up from his sketchbook and flashed her a grin.

“Then I have greatly underestimated my powers of persuasion,” she said. “Maybe it’s time for me to ask Kate for a new centrifuge.” 

“You do have a very persuasive charm about you Doc- Martha,” Steve corrected himself then grinned again. He returned to his sketch as she asked, “And how have you been?”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Some days are harder than others but I get along fine. I’m thinking about moving to D.C. The S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters are there and I think I could be useful outside of just the Avengers. We’ve run enough training scenarios to account for missing team members. They’d be able to handle missions without me.”

“Do you want them to go on without you?”

“Yeah, sure. The team would be fine without me. It would be awhile though I’m sure. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t get in a hurry with transfers.” 

“Do you feel like you have to catch up with the team? Is that why you want time to work on your own? You want to improve yourself and catch up to the others?”

He didn’t answer but concentrated on his drawing. His ears were filled with the sound of his scratching pencil. He didn’t notice Martha repeating his name. Finally, she put her fingertips to his wrist. “Steve.”

His head snapped up. She was staring at him intently, her eyes a galaxy of swirling emotions. “Steve,” she said his name softly. “Enough about the team. Tell me something real about you.”

It took him a long moment to speak but eventually he said, “I’m used to being on my own. I’m good at that. When I wasn’t with Bucky, I was alone. But, yeah, even when I was with him I spent a lot of time trying to catch up. To be brave and strong and tough too. You didn’t know me before the serum. I was a sick, scrawny guy but I was scrappy. All I ever wanted to do was fight for what was right. It’s still all I wanted to do after the serum. But everything is so different now. It’s all grey area, hard to know what’s right and what isn’t. I don’t know where I fit in most of the time.”

He paused to look back at his pad and put the final touch on his sketch. Steve looked up at Martha. “Have you seen _The Wizard of Oz_?”

“Yes, many times,” Martha replied over her coffee cup.

“A lot of days I feel like Dorothy. Like I want to click my heels and wake up back at home where everything makes sense and the people I love are there waiting for me. Instead I’ve got munchkins and flying monkeys.”

“And very mean trees,” Martha said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. 

“ _Very_ mean trees,” Steve said emphatically. He held out his hands to show her the scrapes and scratches he gotten for his day’s work in the park. 

Martha laughed and took one of his hands in hers. She examined his skin for a moment then said, “I think you’ll live but, just in case, maybe you should see a doctor.”

Steve chuckled and pulled his hand back across the table. 

“One thing to remember though, Steve,” Martha said after a quiet beat. “Dorothy made it through Oz and to the Emerald City but she didn’t do it alone. Friends help. Lean on people, trust in them and they’ll see you through the forest.” 

Steve swallowed hard. He felt her words nestle somewhere in his ribcage and press against his heart. 

She spoke again in a jovial manner, “But what do I know? Maybe I’m just your Glinda, coming in to give you the big secret at the end of the film.”

Steve smiled, “And see, here I thought I’d found my scarecrow.”

Martha threw her head back and sounded off another laugh. “Brainless. Sure,” she giggled. “Though I think I’m more of a Tin Man, myself. I’ll cry over anything, me.”

“Not brainless,” he countered. “Did you miss the point of the movie? The point was they each had their abilities all along. Scarecrow, looking for a brain, already has intelligence and wisdom. You seem pretty intelligent and wise to me.”

“You flatter me. But intelligence and wisdom are in no short supply in our lines of work. I’ll think I’ll take Glinda after all. I’d look good in a fancy frock and a crown.”

They finished their coffees and Martha asked Ellie for the check. “We best be going. It’s going on one in the morning,” Martha told Steve, “and I promised to have you home before daylight.” 

Steve made a fuss of wanting to pay for the meal, at least for his half, but Martha steadfastly refused.

“I dragged you over here tonight because I wanted company and coffee and a mountain of junk food. You were wonderful to provide me companionship so late into the evening. The least I can do is buy your supper,” she said adamantly. 

“Next time is my treat then,” he offered.

“Deal.” 

Steve loitered at the exit while Martha paid the bill. When she finished, he held the door open and followed her out into the cool night air of New York in the spring. As they walked leisurely back to toward the Tower, Steve finally said, “So tell me something real about you. What are these sordid details you mentioned before?”

Martha exhaled explosively. “Whoa. That’s a lot to get into on this short walk back. The bullet points version is this - I was engaged to be married but that fell through and before Tom I was in love with a time traveling alien called the Doctor. With him I went places and did things and some of them were wonderful and some of them still give me nightmares. 

“I’m eternally grateful for the time I had with the Doctor but it also traumatized me in ways that I can never fully explain. Despite that, I’d go back with him in a heartbeat. Because for all my talk of not living in the past, a lot of the time I’m moving toward the next yesterday. Sorry. Time travel humor.”

They slowly approached the front entrance of the Tower. Martha said, “I promise, one day I’ll tell you everything about me, even the not good things about what I did for the Doctor.”

Steve listened patiently. It was easy to listen to her, even though he didn’t fully understand a lot of what she said. But he gathered was that she’d spent time as a soldier of some sort and she was haunted by her own war. That was something he very much understood. Steve had already felt a fast, easy friendship with Martha but this made the connection more substantial. 

“And now I’m going to change the subject,” Martha stated. “When I was paying the bill at the diner I noticed a flier for a Memorial Day event in Brooklyn. A bunch of local bands are getting together to play music from the eras America’s been at war, starting with World War I and ending with the early years of the Iraq War. I wondered if it might be something you’d like to do. I know it’s still a month off but I can ask around and see if some S.H.I.E.L.D. and U.N.I.T. people would like to go blow off steam and we’ll make a thing of it.”

Steve smiled. It was an interesting concept and he liked the idea of venturing into Brooklyn. “Yeah, let’s do it. It sounds like fun.” 

Martha beamed. “Excellent. I fully expect you to tell me the names of all the original artists when they get to songs from your era, mister,” she playfully poked his torso. 

Martha explained that she had come straight in after her flight to drop off some test results and equipment at the lab with Doctor Sherwood and that she needed to retrieve her belongings before she could head to her flat. They entered their biometric data at the security door and then, once inside, made their way to the elevator. 

At Martha’s floor, Steve held the elevator doors open as they said their farewells.

“Thank you again for going with me tonight, Steve.” 

“It was my pleasure, Martha.”

“Let me see your sketchbook,” she requested. Steve eyed her strangely but handed over the book and pencil. 

Martha flipped to the last empty page and, as she began to write, said, “If you want a primer on the Doctor and some of those things I’m going to tell you about one day, go to U.N.I.T. server Omega, folder 780803-DRSM-714861. This is my password,” she flashed the page of his sketchbook which now contained the name of the folder she mentioned above a long string of letters and numbers. 

Martha closed the pad and handed it back to him with the pencil. “There’s a lot to see there. It might also explain some of the work U.N.I.T. is doing here with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers.”

Steve tapped the pencil on the sketchbook. “Thanks. I’ll check it out.” 

Martha gave him a slow smile. “Goodnight Steve.” 

“Goodnight,” he stepped back and let the doors close. He rode up a few more floors to his quarters and slipped into his darkened room. He moved easily about the shadows and clicked on the single bulb of the desk lamp and dropped the sketchpad and pencil there as he slipped out of his leather jacket.

He sat down at the desk and opened the pad to the last page. He looked at the laptop that he still barely knew how to use and contemplated diving into the information Martha was giving him. He’d had so much coffee at the diner that he knew he’d be awake for hours more but he didn’t feel like digging through files. Instead, he sharpened his pencil and flipped the sketchbook to a blank page. 

He began to draw the images that were stuck in his head. The feminine floral blouse beneath the stiff black leather jacket. The delicate silver chain and glittering star charm hanging at the hollow of a delicate throat. The shiny diamond studs attached to small rounded earlobes. The clunky utilitarian watch that slipped around on a small left wrist. The dark brown eyes that were full of light and never missed a thing. The radiant smile that brightened the dark city street. 

Steve looked at his sketch of Martha. It was good. One of his better drawings, he admitted to himself, but he couldn’t place what was missing from the image. Something tangible that he couldn’t put onto the paper. When he finally laid down to sleep in the wee small hours of the morning, Steve could still feel the warmth of Martha’s hands on his and could hear the bell of her laughter ringing in his ears.


	3. Memorial Day

_ Memorial Day! _

_ One Night Only! _

_ Performing The Music of Wartime America: _

_ Christina Thomas, Cosmic Planet, Deluge, Gizmo, Guy Bell and the Rebel Awakening, Invasion, _

_ Jory Hale,  _ _ Maddox Duff, Muse of Menace, Shane Cross, Skye Nolan, and Souls and Stars _

 

Steve stood outside The Gin Joint, reading and rereading the poster in the window, as he waited for Martha to arrive. He recognized some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the U.N.I.T. doctors who had filtered in a few minutes earlier but felt awkward joining their group as he knew them very little.

“Hey!” Steve heard a voice and the rushing sound of feet pounding on the sidewalk. He turned and saw Martha sprinting toward him in black leggings, black boots, and a long yellow tunic. She had her hand wrapped around the pendant of a long gold necklace as she ran, presumably to keep it from flying in all directions.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I got on the wrong train and had to backtrack.”

“It’s fine,” he told her. “I was just thinking of calling to see if you were still coming.” 

“Yes. Still coming. Am here now,” Martha panted. She took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, then gestured toward the entrance. “Shall we?”

Steve stepped forward, pulled the door open and motioned for her to go first. When they entered, Steve paused to take in the decor. The bar and tables were pale wood and strands of Edison light bulbs were densely crisscrossed overhead. The fixtures were all heavy, dark metal and it seemed that red and orange yarn was wrapped around everything that couldn’t move. 

Martha turned to say something to him but stopped when she saw the look on his face. “You OK?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’ve just never been a bar with...so many lights before.”

She laughed goodnaturedly and told him, “This is what is known as hipster. Brooklyn has been overrun with the hipster movement.” She made a broad sweeping gesture with her hand to indicate the large open room. “You’ll notice the overwhelming number of dark frame glasses, plaid shirts, and men with beards. Or mustaches. It’s all symptomatic of the hipster trend. And everything will be local, craft, artisanal, and/or organic.”

“But what’s with the yarn?” he wondered.

“That I cannot explain. It’s just part of the trend.”

The bartender saw them then and approached. Steve immediately noted his black and red plaid shirt, his beard, and his large dark frame glasses.

“What can I get for you folks?” The bartender asked.

“What have you got?” Martha responded. “Give me the sales pitch.”

“All of our gin is small batch distilled, artisanal and locally made. We have a wide selection to choose from but the favorite tonight has been our event specific cocktail, The Allies. It’s a mixture of gunpowder gin, French Vermouth, and a dash of grapefruit bitters, sweetened with organic honey from a local apiary, strained and served over ice.”

In her peripheral, Martha could see Steve’s jaw slacken in astonishment and it took all of her effort not to dissolve into laughter.

“That sounds lovely,” she said. “I’ll give that a try.”

“And for you, sir?”

“Uh...can I just get a beer?” Steve drawled.

“Certainly, sir. Which would you like?” the bartender handed him a laminated list of available beers. “All of our beers are local small batch craft brews…”

Martha did laugh then and Steve randomly pointed to a name on the list. “I’ll try that one,” he answered hurriedly. 

As the bartender set about preparing their drinks, Steve, with a flicker of a smile, said to Martha, “I’m glad that me being such a fish out of water is amusing to you.”

“No, I wasn’t laughing at you!” Martha told him. “We’d only been in the door thirty seconds and he’d already spouted off all the keywords I’d given you. For people who pride themselves on being first and original, the hipster crowd seems to be a fairly predictable bunch.”

After they’d been given their cocktail and beer on crocheted yellow doilies instead of the usual bar coaster, Steve and Martha exchanged a long look before sharing a laugh and crossing the bar to join their fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. and U.N.I.T. agents. She had just finished introducing him to the assembled group when a burst of feedback screeched through the bar.

“Sorry, sorry about that,” the woman on stage said. She wore a trilby hat atop her long blonde hair, shredded denims and a floral print tee beneath a drapey cardigan. She adjusted the microphone and told the crowd, “I’m Skye Nolan and this is my band.” She gestured at the three musicians setting up onstage behind her then continued, “Maddox Duff is actually gonna come out and join me for this first number. From 1917, this is ‘For Me and My Gal.’”

A few of the artists on the roster rotated in and out to play music from the World War I era while the crowd sipped their drinks and applauded. Steve and Martha were seated next to each other in a booth with Osgood and Darcy Lewis, the not quite an intern who worked out of Jane Foster’s lab. 

Deluge was playing the final song from the First World War when Steve leaned in so she could hear him over the music and said loudly to Martha, “These bands aren’t exactly my style but I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoyed live music. Did I tell you about the time Bucky and I snuck into the Savoy Ballroom to see Ella Fitzgerald?”

Martha whirled her head around to look at him. Her eyes were wide as she exclaimed, “No! Start giving me those details, mister!”

It was hard to tell the story with any nuance since he was nearly shouting in her ear but he conveyed the high points of his and Bucky’s misadventure. 

“We only got to see a little of her performance before we were thrown out but it was the experience of a lifetime.”

“The Doctor brought me to New York in 1930 and I  _ begged _ him to take me to the Savoy Ballroom but it wasn’t ‘on the schedule’” she set down her drink to make the finger quotes. “I’m unbelievably jealous of you now.”

The music faded out and Cosmic Planet came on stage next to begin playing the World War II era tunes. They struck up a faster tempo, slightly more modern version of “Blue Skies” that still maintained a healthy dose of trumpet wailing. A surprising number of patrons trickled out of their seats and onto the open hardwood floor that stretched empty and open before the stage. Some of them, including Osgood and Darcy, began to flail about enthusiastically and perform muted swing dance moves.

Martha saw the light come into Steve’s eyes. She leaned in close and said loudly in his ear, “It feels good doesn’t it?” She tapped his chest twice, “In here? Feels like finding something you thought you’d lost?”

His expression turned to one of confusion. “Yeah! How’d you know?”

It had been the same for her, after the Year. After months spent drifting through pain and trauma and devastation, it had taken Tish dragging her to see The Wombats at a music festival in Hyde Park for her to remember what pure, unadulterated joy felt like. By the time they’d performed “Backfire at the Disco” she had felt more like herself and less like a shadow of who she had been before. 

“‘Music oft hath such a charm to make bad good,’” she quoted.

He shouted in a puzzled tone, “Shakespeare?”

She nodded. 

“You’re hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

Martha nodded again, this time with a smile, and then she leapt up to join Darcy and Osgood on the floor. After a few more swinging jazz standards, Souls and Stars had their turn on stage. They were two mustachioed men in charcoal grey suits. The long haired one carried an acoustic guitar. From the look of them, Steve didn’t know what to expect and was surprised to hear them sing Billie Holiday’s “God Bless the Child” with powerful harmonious voices. 

In between songs, Martha wandered back over to the table and finished her drink in one quick swig. She exhaled deeply then said, “You should come out here with us. There’s not  _ nearly _ as much yarn where we are.”

Steve chuckled, “I think I’m good here.”

“Oh come on,” she snatched his hand and began to tug him out of the booth. She pulled forcefully but struggled to move him even a little. “Where’s. Your. Sense. Of. Daring?”

Chuckling, Steve said, “OK, fine! You win! I’ll go!” 

As they neared the open floor, Souls and Stars began to play a slow, almost haunting version of “That Old Black Magic.” 

A few couples started to pair off and Martha asked, “Hey, would you want to dance? Could be fun.”

At first Steve thought he couldn’t hear her over the music. “What? What did you say?”

Martha opened her mouth to speak, “I said…”

But her voice faded. His ears were filled with the echoes of another conversation from another time.

_ “Peggy...I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance.” _

_ “All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club.” _

_ “You know, I still don't know how to dance.” _

_ “I'll show you how. Just be there.” _

_ “We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your toes.” _

“Steve?” Martha touched her hand to his arm. “Steve, are you alright?”

“I still don’t know how to dance,” Steve muttered woodenly. 

Martha smiled compassionately. “Well, that’s OK. It isn’t difficult. Here, I’ll show you how,” she took his hands and pulled him close.

_ “I'll show you how. Just be there.” _

“No,” he said and pushed Martha’s hands away. He felt too warm. He could feel the sweat beginning to slick his palms and forehead. His loudly pounding heartbeat drowned out the music that played around him. Something was stuck in his throat. He couldn’t seem to find any air.

“Steve, it’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. It’s just a dance for goodness sake,” Martha took his hands again. Her touch was gentle though annoyance flashed in her tone.

He stared at Martha for a long moment. He could feel her touch and hear her words but the present that stood before him was irrevocably drowned out by his sense memory of the past. For the rest of the world, seven decades has passed but for him it had been a moment. He could still feel Peggy’s lips on his as Colonel Phillips sped alongside Red Skull’s plane. Her voice still rang in his ears, all tinny and dressed in static from the communication line. 

Steve suddenly lashed out. “No!” he shouted and shoved her away. “Just...no,” the words came out strangled. 

Martha stood stunned, her mouth agape. Several other patrons turned to look at them warily. She reached out toward him, said his name calmly, soothingly. 

The only word he could say was “no” and it tumbled out of his mouth once more as he pushed past Martha and ran out the door.


	4. Fourth of July

The trip to Tony’s home in upstate New York had been S.H.I.E.L.D. mandated, an order from Nick Fury himself. It was proposed as a team building exercise but after some bad press in recent days, it was as much about getting the Avengers out of the public eye over the holiday weekend as it was about team building.

Steve tried to talk his way out of it. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t looking forward to spending his birthday with the same people he saw all day everyday, it was that he’d made plans to spend Independence Day making the rounds at Walter Reed, visiting with wounded veterans. Fury had allowed him to reschedule his plans for July second but maintained that Steve had to go with the rest of the team as directed.    
  
The itinerary stated that they would depart via caravan at 19:30 that evening and would spend July third in training. July fourth they would be allowed some time off to celebrate the holiday. 

With this knowledge in mind, Tony was already planning a soiree of epic proportions. “It’s Cap’s I birthday,” he’d said. “Not to mention that we’ve gotta show the U.N.I.T. Brits that America won the breakup.”   
  
It had taken a lot of talking, several threats of violence, and an intervention from Pepper to convince Tony to ignore the fact that it was Steve’s birthday. He just wasn’t in the mood to celebrate this year, Steve explained. 

“I was planning to have ‘Happy Birthday, Cap’ spelled out in fireworks. A great deal of time and money went into that planning but whatever. If you don’t want it, that’s fine,” Tony had finally relented, though disappointment was writ large on his face.   
  


Training had been intense and Tony’s party began much the same way. Bottle rocket wars began at dawn, swimming pool shenanigans were aplenty, and those who weren’t too drunk to enjoy the music danced to the tunes that blared from the mansion’s outdoor sound system. 

Steve spent some time with his team, drank a few beers with Colonel Rhodes, and mingled with the assembled S.H.I.E.L.D. agents but he found himself keeping his distance from the U.N.I.T. doctors. He had not spoken to Martha since their Memorial Day incident and he wasn’t sure how to cross that divide. So, he hovered at the edges of everyone else’s fun. 

As the sun began to set, Steve was leaned against the side of the house, watching the revelers, when he heard a voice approach out of the gathering dark.

“Hi Dorothy. Still feeling like you just landed in Oz?”   
  
He looked over his shoulder and watched Martha walk toward him. She had changed out of the blue swimsuit he’d seen her in earlier and wore a pair of denim shorts with a pale lavender tank top. 

“Some days,” he replied. “Most of the time I just feel a bit lost. Sometimes I click my heels just to see if I’ll wake up back in the 40s.”

Martha stood next to him, her arm a millimeter away from his, and leaned against the wall. She asked, “Isn’t there anything you like about the twenty-first century?”   
  
“Sure, a lot of things,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I like most of the people I’ve met.”   
  
“Most?” she raised her eyebrows at him.   
  
“I like some more than others.” He was close enough to notice that she smelled like coconuts and sunbaked citrus. There was the faintest hint of alcohol on her breath when she sighed.   
  


“I, uh, haven’t seen you around much lately,” Steve commented. 

“Well, it’s easy to avoid people at the Tower if you try. But I also went home to England for a couple weeks,” she explained. “My grandad’s health has been in decline so the decision was made to put him in a hospice care facility. As the doctor in the family, Grandad wanted my opinion and then my siblings and I helped him get his things in order.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said sincerely.

“Thank you.” She changed the subject, “So are you going to join the party at all? You’ve been loitering about all day but you’ve not joined in anything.”   
  
“Playing Chicken in the pool isn’t really my game,” he said with a grin. “Though congratulations to you and Barton for taking down Nat and Agent Cuevas. They’re both pretty competitive so that was no easy feat.”   
  
“Thank you,” she responded, a note of pride ringing in her tone. She spoke animatedly, “I thought I might be up against her so I studied videos of her fights to determine the best advantage and then I...”   
  
“Did you really?” Steve interrupted.    
  
“No, of course not,” Martha laughed. “Clint told me her weak spot and I went for the kill. I’m very competitive too, you know.”   
  
It was Steve’s turn to laugh. “So I’m learning.”   
  
A long easy silence hovered in the sliver of space between them. Finally, Martha said, “I’m sorry I crossed a line before. I shouldn’t have tried to push you into something you weren’t comfortable with.”   
  
Steve countered her apology with his own, “No I’m sorry. My behavior was unacceptable. I shouldn’t have...”   
  
“No, no, it’s my fault. If I’d done my research properly I would have known that dancing would be a sore topic for you. I never would have tried to pull you on to the dance floor had I known.” Martha gave a long pause. “Even in U.N.I.T. stories of Agent Carter are legendary. She would be a difficult woman to lose, even more difficult to get over.”   
  
Staring at his shoes, Steve cleared his throat. “Peggy was an amazing woman and I have quite a few regrets where she’s concerned. I'll always hold a candle for her but she’s part of another life, another time. I need to make more of an effort to be apart of this life, in this time.”    
  
“It’s alright to have been hurt by what happened, you know? We’ve all got scars in places that can’t be seen,” Martha told him softly.

The sounds of the party enveloped them as neither Steve nor Martha spoke for a long time. Finally, steeling the nerves in the pit of his stomach, Steve looked directly at her and asked, “Would you dance with me?”   
  
Martha looked into his eyes, their expression intent. “Captain Rogers, you don’t have to...”   
  
“I know I don’t have to,” he interjected. “And you don’t have to go back to calling me Captain Rogers just because we had a spat. It’s Steve. It always will be to you.”   
  
“Steve...” Martha breathed his name, “are you sure that you want to do this in front of all your mates and colleagues? It’s a lot of pressure for a first dance.”   
  
“I don’t care about them,” he said. He’d waited too long to dance with Peggy and the opportunity passed him by but now the right partner had seemed to come along for the second time in his life. “Dance with me,” Steve held out a hand to her.    
  
Martha swallowed hard then slipped her hand into his. Wordlessly, Steve led her to the rectangular dance floor that Tony had had put down that morning. A handful of couples were paired off and swaying to a song Martha recognized by Mika. As they stood face to face, Steve leaned in close and quietly told her, “You might have to lead. I don’t really know any steps.”   
  
Martha took one of Steve’s hands in hers then took his other hand by the wrist and slid it onto the curve of her hip. “There are no steps,” she told him. “Just go with the song. Relax. Don’t listen to the music, feel it with your body.”   
  
Steve exhaled slowly and stared down at his feet. He nervously glanced up at Martha and said, “I apologize in advance for stepping on your toes.”

Martha smiled compassionately. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you,” she told him and began to lead him in a small circle in time to the music.

Steve was just starting to get the hang of things, just beginning to feel less self-conscious, and had stopped looking down at his feet, when the music changed. The song escaped out of another time and wafted through the night air. Martha immediately stopped swaying and tried to take a step back but Steve held her fast. She looked around and didn’t take long to spot Tony, Clint, and Natasha making a big show of not looking at the pair of them.    
  
“Bastards,” she muttered. “Steve, you don’t have... I mean, I don’t want you to feel any more uncomfortable than you already do. I don’t know what sort of twisted joke the three of them are playing but we don’t have to keep dancing if this song brings up anything difficult for you.”   
  
Steve took a breath and looked at his three team members. Tony was waving to coworkers, Natasha, arms crossed over her chest, was looking down at her feet, and Clint was staring into the sky. He took another breath and turned his attention back to Martha.

“No,” he pulled her closer. “I’ve always loved this song. Glenn Miller was a favorite in the thirties,” he said and began moving to the music.   
  
“I don’t know that I’ve heard this song before,” Martha commented. “I’ve heard Glenn Miller obviously, mostly ‘Moonlight Serenade’, but not this particular one. It’s quite lovely.”   
  
“Glenn Miller was pretty popular in my day. This one came out in 1940, if I remember correctly. It was a shame to lose him in the war. His plane disappeared over the Channel.”    
  
“That is a shame,” Martha agreed. “At least he left the legacy of his music. Some of his standards are still covered today by modern musicians. He’s pretty timeless.”   
  
A beat of silence lingered before Steve said, “I think about that a lot. Legacies. Wondering what I’ll leave behind, how I’ll be remembered when I’m gone. I mean, I guess I already have a glimpse of that, of what history had to say about me after the crash. But this is a whole new era, a whole new world, and everything is different. During the war, it was easy to know what kind of legacy I was leaving. With Hydra and Red Skull, I was one of the good guys helping take down the bad ones. Now, everything is all grey area. It’s hard to know who and what to trust, to know who the good guys and bad guys are. It seems everyone is a bit of both now.”   
  
_ “It’s not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me. Oh no, it’s just the nearness of you...” _ __   
  
Martha listened to him speak. The soft fire of his words mixed with the scratchy phonograph quality of the music and she felt the sound of it vibrate into her skin and settle somewhere in her ribcage.    
  
“It’s true,” she said, “that it feels harder to leave a lasting legacy these days. The full impact of a life can seem to go unnoticed. You’ve read my file so you know about my travels with the Doctor. Some people are like him, they burn bright as a star and affect everything, they change the world just by being themselves. Others are like my friend Donna, who also traveled with the Doctor. She fought to save a family, just a single family, in a natural disaster because if they couldn’t save everybody at least they could save somebody. Try being like Donna. Start small. Save someone, not everyone, and your legacy will be kept by those people.”   
  
Steve listened intently as she spoke. She had a knack for saying the exact thing he needed to hear. The warmth of her small hand in his was comforting and he found reassurance in her touch.    
  
_ “I need no soft lights to enchant me if you will only grant me the right to hold you ever so tight and to feel in the night the nearness of you.” _ __   
  
“Um, Steve...” Martha said quietly, “the music stopped.”    
  
“Huh?” Steve tore his eyes away from her face and looked around. Aside from discarded plastic cups and scraps of colorful paper from the confetti poppers that had been distributed earlier, the dance floor was empty. Glenn Miller was gone but in the silence Steve could still feel the music.   
  
“Doctor Jones, Captain Rogers,” a voice said from a few feet away. A young woman from Stark Industries walked forward. “Mr Stark says the fireworks are about to start. And here,” she extended two silver sparklers and two Stark logo emblazoned lighters, “Mr. Stark said everyone gets a sparkler.”   
  
“Thanks,” Martha said softly and lifted her hand from Steve’s shoulder to take the offered items. As the young woman departed, Steve dropped his hand from Martha’s hip and let go of her hand. He didn’t quite understand the fleeting feeling of emptiness as he did so but had no time to ponder it as Martha said, “Come on,” and took a step toward the darkness where the U.N.I.T. and S.H.I.E.L.D. officers and agents were gathering.   
  
She stopped a few feet from the crowd and said, “Here,” before handing him one of the sparklers. “Word got around that you didn’t want to make a big deal about your birthday. Some speculated that it was because you didn’t want to have to blow out ninety some odd candles. But, if you’re not going to have birthday candles you at least need birthday fireworks.” The lighter flicked on and she touched the flame to the tip of the sparkler he held. A moment later it crackled to life and she lit her own.    
  
Steve studied her face in the glittering, gold light of the sparklers, trying to imprint the scene onto his mind’s eye. He knew he would try to draw the image later.    
  
Martha stretched onto her toes and placed a kiss to the side of his mouth. “Happy birthday, Steve,” she said by way of goodbye then took a few steps away from him.   
  
“Martha,” Steve halted her retreat. “Thank you. For the dance. We should do it again sometime.”   
  
A bright grin stretched across Martha’s face.  She stood at attention and raised her hand in salute. “Aye, aye Captain,” she said and turned away again.

Steve matched her smile with one of his own and he watched her dwindling sparkler bob through the crowd until he could no longer see her. He discarded his own spent sparkler, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and headed toward the house, the smile illuminating his face in the darkness.


	5. Summer Bank Holiday (U.K.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha needs a day off and invites Steve to play hooky with her.

It started on Facebook. It was one of those TimeHop things that recall photos and statuses from previous years. Martha had only logged on to see new photos of her nephew but she was instantly assaulted with a reminder of her life from one year earlier.

Above a selfie of her and Tom were the words  _ “FINALLY got this one to set a date!!! Next year, September 2nd, the anniversary of the day we met! I know that’s a Monday but it’ll be a short, simple evening ceremony and a small reception. You’ll all be home in time for EastEnders, I promise!” _

Martha slammed her laptop shut. After a beat she dropped her head into her hands, suddenly afraid to face the life she could be leading. Her stomach tightened into knots and she felt the potential of another life darken her windpipe and steal the air from her lungs. 

She could see herself trying on her wedding dress one last time to check the fit, could hear herself speaking with the caterer and florist, could imagine how the chapel would look covered in flowers and ribbons. Worst of all, she could feel Tom’s arms sliding around her waist, feel his chin resting on the curve of her shoulder, feel the warmth of his breath on her neck as he spoke.  _ “Everything’s gorgeous, darling. You’ve done a marvelous job, as always.” _

“Oh god, oh god,” she murmured, pulling her knees up to her chest and holding herself tight. Martha took in gulps of air and exhaled in long shuddering sighs. 

She took a few moments to calm down and released the tearless sobs that had collected in her throat. It was going to be a week of this, she realized. September second was the following Monday. It would be a week of burying her feelings and closing off the parts of her brain that remembered the wedding shop reflection of herself in a simple white gown, that could recall exact shade of pink she’d chosen for the peonies in her bouquet, that still remembered the feeling of Tom’s hand in hers. 

Looking at the time, Martha foisted herself off the sofa and hurried to shower and get dressed for work. She thought she could put up a partition around her heart and mind, keep them separate so that she could go about her business, but by the time she got off the elevator at her floor and strode into her dark, empty office Martha realized she suddenly didn’t have the strength to carry on as normal for the rest of the day. She needed something to take her out of herself. She needed a day off. 

She didn’t even bother to turn on the lights. Instead, she turned and walked to the stairwell and climbed the steps to the next floor. There, she knocked on the door of Kate Stuart’s office.

“Martha, lovely to see you,” Kate greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take a personal day,” Martha told her superior. “I’ll remain on call and will happily come back if there’s an emergency that requires my attention but… But I just need a day to myself.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Is everything OK? Have you had some distressing news from home? Is it your grandfather?”

“No, nothing like that. Everyone at home is fine. Call it a mental health day, if you like. It’s a silly reason for needing one but I just don’t think I’ll be very productive here today.”

“Very well,” Kate said after a long moment. “Keep your mobile handy in case of some catastrophe but otherwise, enjoy your day off.”

“Thank you, Kate. You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Martha said as she turned to leave. 

“Martha,” Kate called out and Martha turned back to her. “You  _ can _ talk to me, you know? We’ve been work friends long enough that you can tell me when things are bothering you.”

Martha took a shaky breath, slowly exhaled, then said, “It’s Tom. We were supposed to be getting married next week and it’s hit me harder than I anticipated. I’m being bombarded by a million what-ifs and I just… I just can’t seem to shake some of the old ghosts.”

Kate was silent for a long moment. Her expression hadn’t changed but her eyes were sympathetic. She said kindly, “Well, it is Summer Bank Holiday. If you were back home you’d have the day off anyway. So go on, off with you then. But don’t go home and wallow. Do something different, something fun, to take you out of yourself. That’s an order.”

Martha slightly smiled then gave a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I expect a full report of the mischief you get up to today!” Kate’s voice followed Martha down the hallway. 

Martha stood at the elevator bank and pressed the call button. When the elevator finally came, she was pleasantly surprised to see Steve.

“Good morning,” he greeted with a smile.

“Morning,” she said and went to press the button for the lobby only to find it already pressed.

“Heading out?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m taking the day off. To clear my head,” she told him. “You?”

“Picking up my motorcycle. It needed a little work after our most recent mission.”

Martha smiled and her mind flashed with the image of the Empire State Building postcard now tacked onto her corkboard. It was in company with a half dozen other New York centric postcards as well as ones from Los Angeles, Miami, Austin, and Portland. 

She had told Steve there was no need to keep up the gag since it was based on something she’d said offhand but Steve continued to bring her postcards, each scrawled with the same “Wish you were here” inscription. The remark “send me a postcard” had been a accidental slip, an echo of her engagement. Every time she’d seen Tom off for another lengthy deployment to some impoverished country, there would be an embrace, a kiss, an exchange of I love yous and then the same farewell - “Be safe. Save the world. Send me a postcard.” 

Tom never had brought her a postcard, not from anywhere. He usually responded with a snarky retort about how locations without running water typically weren’t too preoccupied with touristy trinkets and then boarded his plane. 

“So if you’re playing hooky, what kind of plans do you have for the day?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know actually. I thought about going to the Museum of Natural History but I’m feeling the need to be outside, in the fresh air and sunshine. Well, as fresh as New York air gets,” she explained. 

“You could always go to the botanic gardens in Brooklyn,” he suggested. “Or Coney Island. Those were places I used to go when I wanted to be alone and clear my head.”

Martha pursed her lips in consideration. The botanic gardens wouldn’t do, she thought, knowing that she’d spend an inordinate amount of time thinking of the floral arrangements for the wedding that would never be. Coney Island, though, had some promise.

“Coney Island sounds like an excellent idea,” she told him. “Say, why don’t you play hooky too and come with me? I could use a native to show me around. And besides, it won’t be nearly as much fun on my own.”

The elevator deposited them at the ground floor and Martha stood waiting for Steve’s reply. 

He mulled things over. There was no hurry to pick up his motorcycle and he really had nothing pressing. If there was an emergency or a sudden mission sprung up, he could easily be reached.

“Sure,” he smiled. “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

 

Martha was flat on her back on the boardwalk. The sun soaked wood was burning hot on her bare shoulders but she was too preoccupied to feel the pain. Over Steve’s protestations, she continued to howl with laughter.

“These games are rigged, I’m telling you!” he exclaimed. He was still holding the overly large mallet for the strongman challenge. She had goaded him into giving it a try, saying it would be an easy win, but he hadn’t been able to ring the bell and she had crumpled into fits of laughter.

“Super soldier my arse!” she crowed, wiping tears from her eyes.

Steve stood over her, blocking out the sun. “If I’d known you were just going to mock me, I would’ve stayed at the Tower.”

“You’re having fun, admit it.”

He  _ was _ having fun, but out of pique he wouldn’t admit it to her. “Come on,” he held out his hand to help her. She lifted her hand but stopped just short of touching his fingers.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough to lift me?” she asked through another throaty laugh. Rolling his eyes, Steve snatched Martha’s hand and pulled her to her feet in one swift movement. 

Martha steadied herself, patted him on the shoulder, and said in a quiet, conspiratorial voice, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your performance issues.” 

“Oh so you’re gonna be like that, huh? Well come on, Jones. Let’s see if you can do any better,” he goaded. 

“I’ll show you better, just as soon as I find the right game,” she told him and strolled further down the boardwalk. 

They hadn’t gone far when a barker called out to them, “Step right up sir and win a prize for the lovely lady! Only takes three darts to win!”

“The lady will win her own prize, thank you very much,” Martha said and plopped down the cash to play the game. The balloons looked under-inflated, as she expected. Hitting them straight on would only result in a bouncing dart. The angle of attack needed to come from above. 

As she lined up her aim with the first of four darts, Steve leaned over and said in her ear, “You know I’m waiting for you to choke, right?”

She turned to look at him. Their faces were mere inches apart and she could see a glint of mischief in his dark blue eyes. “You’re gonna be waiting a long time for that, mister,” she told him and threw the dart. The angle was too low and it bounced harmlessly off of an orange balloon.

“Guess it wasn’t that long after all,” Steve said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Three more tries!” the barker yelled. “Three more tries to win a prize!”

Martha took a breath, steeled herself, and threw the remaining three darts in rapid succession. Pop, pop, pop. 

“Lucky lady’s won a prize!” the barker shouted and handed her a cheap, oversized teddy bear. 

Martha turned, bear in hand, and Steve began to clap slowly. “Wow,” she drawled, “I’ve never heard applause sound so sarcastic before.” She shoved the soft toy into his arms and said, “Enough games. I’m ready for rides. And food. Food first, I’m starving.”

“I know exactly what we’re having, come on,” he told her, guiding her with one arm and hoisting the bear under the other. He led her to Nathan’s Famous and told her of the immigrants who had opened the nickel hot dog stand in 1916 with three hundred dollars borrowed from friends and that nearly a century later the same restaurant was still there and still selling the best hot dogs around the globe. 

They each ordered a hot dog and lemonade and took their food to one of the few unoccupied stone tables and benches nearby. The bear sat next to Martha, its black nose just poking over the edge of the table. Steve was all smiles as he told her about eating Nathan’s hot dogs in his youth but his expression turned to horror as he watched Martha smear a line of ketchup on her hot dog.

“Excuse me,” he said in a strangled tone, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Martha took a bite then replied around a mouthful of food, “Eating. What do you think I’m doing?”

“I mean, what do you think you’re doing by ruining a Nathan’s hot dog with ketchup?” Steve demanded.

“I like ketchup on hot dogs!” she objected.

“No one should like ketchup on hot dogs! It makes them too sweet.”

Martha stared at him wide-eyed. “AND?! You’ve met me, right? You’ve witnessed my ongoing love affair with sugar. Why do you put ketchup on your chips?”

“Because potatoes are boring! You’re  _ required _ to dress up potatoes,” he shot back. “But potatoes are not a Nathan’s Famous hot dog!”

“You could just as easily dress potatoes with salt and malt vinegar but you choose ketchup. I think your real problem here is with cultural norms. You think that just because I’m in America I should bow to all of your strange societal ticks. Well, I’ll not have it, mister. I’m British and I’ll continue to enjoy myself in British fashion, thank you very much!”

“In 1939, President Roosevelt brought King George and Queen Elizabeth here to Nathan’s. I guarantee the royals didn’t put ketchup on their hot dogs!”

Martha scoffed, “And I guarantee you the Queen Mum hated every second of the experience.”

The argument continued between bites and sips. They were still sparring when they entered Luna Park and stopped at the line for the Cyclone. 

Steve’s body went rigid as he was flooded with memories of the past. He could feel the click and rattle of the coaster, feel the rush of air pressing against his face and the dizziness in his head, feel his weak stomach rising into his throat. He could taste the rising bile on the back of his tongue, could hear Bucky’s voice, calm and reassuring beneath the screams and shouts of the other riders. Then he remembered another conversation, the one that happened just before he lost his best friend.

 

_ “Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?” _

_ “Yeah, and I threw up?” _

_ “This isn't payback, is it?” _

_ “Now why would I do that?” _

 

“Steve? Steve?” Martha laid a hand on his shoulder. “Steve, are you alright? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

“I, uh…” He didn’t know what to say. He’d been possessed by his past and didn’t know how to shake it. Martha’s hand slipped into his and he squeezed her fingers gratefully. She was giving him a lifeline, something tangible to pull himself away from the ghosts of his former life. She gave him his ground again.

“Sorry I, uh, I had a bad experience with this roller coaster once. This was in my pre-serum days, back when I was still that scrawny kid from Brooklyn. Bucky made me ride and I, uh, I threw up all over the place.”

Compassion was written all over Martha’s face. “Right,” she said softly. She issued a couple of pardon me’s to the few people who’d joined the back of the line behind them and pulled Steve away from the crowd. Though she still held his hand, she gave him space to breathe and come back to himself.

“Sorry about that,” Steve apologized. “I didn’t think I’d react so strongly to a roller coaster.”

“It’s all right,” she told him gently. She held the stuffed toy out toward him and asked, “Do you need a cuddle from an emotional support bear?”

He felt the heaviness in his chest lighten imperceptibly when she smiled at him. He smiled in return. He touched his free hand to the top of the bear’s head and pushed it back towards her, “I think I’ll be alright.” 

“All right, well the offer stands. Are you up for something else? Bumper cars? The Wonder Wheel? I heard there’s an aquarium round here somewhere.”

They went to the bumper cars and Martha’s cajoling spirit of competitiveness brought him to something close to normal. They stayed on Coney Island for the rest of the day, viewing attractions and riding various rides, but they stayed away from The Cyclone. Night had fallen by the time they finished a dinner of pizza and beers and afterward, Martha expressed a desire to leave. 

“No, not that way,” she said as he directed her toward the subway lines. Instead she turned and went the opposite direction. It took time to weave their way out of the park and down the boardwalk but eventually their feet touched sand. It was a long walk from the edge of the park to the edge of the water and they walked it in silence.

Once they were close to the water, Martha dropped the bear into the sand along with her socks, shoes, and phone. Then she rolled up the pant legs of her khakis and stepped into the breaking waves. 

“I haven’t been to the sea in a long time,” she said after a long stretch of quiet. “My grandad has a cottage in a seaside village but I haven’t actually been down by the water in ages. There’s something restorative about the ocean, about the rhythm of the waves. There’s a kind of tranquility that you can’t get elsewhere.”

“Are you prescribing me a swim in the ocean, Doctor Jones?” Steve asked, gathering that she was hinting at something. 

“Not necessarily a swim but maybe getting your feet wet.”

With a sigh, Steve followed her example and removed his socks and shoes then rolled up the legs of his jeans and stepped into the water beside her. It was a pleasant feeling but he wasn’t sure of the point she was trying to make.

“There’s something freeing about water,” Martha commented, looking out to the dark horizon. “It’s absorptive, it’ll take whatever you want to give it. Memories, for example.” She looked at him, “You’ve put on a happy face but I could see it in your eyes. You’ve been haunted ever since the Cyclone.”

He looked down at his feet.

“What ghost have you been carrying around with you today? Is it your friend, Bucky?”

Eventually, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s Bucky.”

She stayed silent and gave him his own time to speak. 

“He was more than my best friend. He was like my brother. We did everything together,” he spoke in slow short sentences at first, as if it was an effort to put what he’d lost into words. “Back when I was still that skinny kid, Bucky looked after me. He let me fight my own fights but he always did what he could to protect me too. Naturally, he was much better with girls than I was but he always made sure that I didn’t feel left out and he’d see that his girl had a friend for me so we could go doubles. It was always a disaster for me but I appreciated his efforts.”

Steve fell quiet for a few moments, listening to the waves and drifting in his memories. “You’ve read my file so you know how I went into a Hydra stronghold and let out the men who’d been captured. I did it to save Bucky because he’d saved me so many times before. After that, we formed the Howling Commandos and Bucky was never far from my side, just like we’d always been back home. Our last mission together involved a risky assault on a Hydra train. It meant zipping along a wire and dropping onto the train. Just before the train rounded the bend, Bucky said ‘Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island? This isn’t payback, is it?’”

“And then we were off. Me and him fighting Hydra on the train. Then suddenly he was blown out the side, holding on for dear life, and I couldn’t save him. I still remember the look on his face as he fell. It’s burned in my mind and I can’t shake it. When I think about Bucky and everything we did before the war, I can’t help but see him in that final moment.” He gave a cruel sounding chuckle, “I’m supposed to be a super soldier and I couldn’t save my best friend. Some hero I turned out to be.”

Martha’s face was full of tender empathy as she listened to him speak. Finally, she said in a hushed tone, “I won’t bother telling you about survivor’s guilt or post traumatic stress. You’re a soldier; you’re well acquainted with both conditions so you don’t need me telling you how to feel. And I didn’t know your friend Bucky so I’ll not patronize you by telling you he’d want you to move on. What I will say is this. You’re not obligated to carry the burden of the dead all by yourself. Anytime you want to tell me about Bucky, I’m happy to listen. Talking more about those good times you had might help lessen the pain of that last moment you were with him.”

Steve smiled inwardly. She had been a welcome listening ear for him on many occasions, so much so that he sometimes thought she would be sending him a bill for therapy. His Bucky-related pain had become so intertwined with the fabric of his being that he almost wasn’t sure how to extrapolate one from the other. But Martha had a point. Maybe it was time to stop carrying the burden alone.

He cleared his throat and took two steps backward out of the surf. “Come on,” he said, jerking his head back toward the parks. “I’ll buy you an ice cream and tell you about the time Bucky and I had to ride home in the back of a freezer truck because he used our train money trying to win a prize for the girl he was dating.”

Martha grinned and moved to retrieve her bear and her socks and shoes. She tucked the toy under her arm and held her socks and shoes in one hand. “So what was the prize? I hope it was worth riding home in an igloo.”

“It was a bear, kind of like yours,” he said. “Bucky sure seemed to think it was worth it.”

“And the girl? Was she pretty?”

“Definitely. All of Bucky’s girls were beautiful.”

They moved further up the beach, Martha listening attentively as Steve told her about his friend, and the sound of the crashing surf grew fainter as they walked away.


	6. Labor Day

Martha stood in the common area of the laboratory and sipped her coffee. She was lost in contemplation and didn’t hear Dr. Barrett speaking to her at first. 

“Martha? Hello? Earth to Dr. Jones,” he snapped his fingers.

“I’m sorry Blake, I was a million miles away. What did you need?”

“I didn’t  _ need _ anything,” the scientist said. “I was making small talk and asking if you were going to the baseball game tomorrow.”

“Oh, I hadn’t decided yet.”

“You haven’t decided if you’re going to use Tony Stark’s private box at a professional sporting event? I know absolutely nothing about baseball but I’m not turning down the opportunity.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a lovely time,” Martha commented, “but I might just hang out around here and catch up on some paperwork and filing.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged and left the common room with his tea.

Later, when Martha walked into Dr. Banner’s lab to deliver some test results she found herself caught in the middle of a conversation between him and Steve.

“Martha!” Bruce greeted as though grateful for her arrival. “Were you planning to go to the game tomorrow?”

“That’s certainly a popular question today,” she said, hugging the manila folder to her chest. “I haven’t decided.”

Bruce stepped around from the other side of his workstation and implored, “Please. Go with Steve so he’ll leave me alone.” He held out his hand for the file, accepted it from Martha, and hurried out of the room.

“‘Go with Steve?’” she repeated. “Aren’t you going to be in Tony’s private box with everyone else?”

Steve sighed heavily. “I knew that being dumb enough to buy tickets to a Yankee game was going to come back and bite me. I bought two tickets to the game because sitting in some private box with champagne isn’t the way to watch baseball. I wanted to sit out in the crowd and have popcorn and hotdogs and enjoy the game like everyone else. Barton was supposed to go with me but he had to cancel so I’m hunting for someone to sit with me. But so far everyone is either going to be in Tony’s box or they aren’t going at all.”

Martha bit her lip in contemplation. She had planned to either stay home moping or to bury herself in work but going with Captain America to a baseball game, the most American of pastimes, sounded like a way to pull herself out of the funk she was in.

“I’ll go,” she said decisively. “If you don’t mind having a baseball novice watching the game with you.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“So do I meet you here and we’ll go over with the others or…?” she trailed off.

“No, no need for that,” Steve shook his head. “The stadium is in the Bronx so you’d be going the opposite direction if you came here. I could, uh, pick you up at your apartment, if that works for you. The game starts at three so I can be at your place around one.”

“Perfect.” She gave him her full address, said “I’ll see you tomorrow,” then left the room. 

As she made her way toward her own office and lab, she met Natasha Romanoff walking down the corridor. “Agent,” Martha greeted politely.

“Hey Doc,” Natasha stopped mid-stride, “have you seen Banner? He said he had something to show me in the labs but he never said which one.”

“Well he isn’t in his own but you might check with Dr. Sherwood. Based on the file I brought him earlier he might be headed that way. It’s one floor above.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m heading that way, so I’ll walk with you,” Martha said and pointed to the nearby stairwell. Martha and Natasha took the first few steps in silence before Martha summoned up her courage to ask the question on her mind. She was fine around the rest of the Avengers and got along particularly well with Tony Stark and Clint Barton in addition to Steve but Agent Romanoff made her decidedly nervous.

“Would it be possible for you to tell me what one wears to a baseball game? Not that I’d ever ask you for clothing advice under normal circumstances but I just sort of find myself needing help at the moment.”

Natasha gave Martha a sidelong glance and said, “You’re going to be with your coworkers in Tony’s private box. Wear what you normally would in an upscale casual setting.”

“But see, that’s the thing. I’m not. I’m going to be out in the stands with Captain Rogers and I know nothing about baseball and I don’t want to look like a total plonker.”

The barest trace of a smile flickered at the corner of Natasha’s mouth. “Don’t wear anything fussy. Sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt will be fine. Don’t wear anything too precious to you because you’ll probably end up wearing some drunk guy’s beer and don’t worry about taking a purse; money and sunglasses are all you’ll really need.”

Martha breathed a sigh of relief. So nothing too different from going to a football game. She could handle that. 

“I don’t know why I panicked and thought it would be vastly different from sporting events in England but thank you very much for your help,” Martha held open the stairwell door and let Natasha through first. 

“You and Steve have gotten pretty close, haven’t you? I mean, we all saw you dancing together at the Fourth of July retreat. Looked like there were some sparks that weren’t fireworks related.”

Martha took a steadying breath. “I care about him very much.”

“He needs someone good in his life. You seem to be fitting that bill. But don’t lead him on or play games with him. He’s had his fair share of hurt and anyone who causes him more will find also find their fair share of hurt.”

Martha caught her meaning. “Agent Romanoff, when I came here with U.N.I.T. seven months ago I had just broken off my engagement. It’s taken me awhile to mend myself from the experience of that relationship. I promise that I have no intention of playing games with Steve or doing anything to cause him pain.”

Natasha gave her a long, piercing look. “Good,” she said and turned in the direction of the labs. “Banner, you better be up here! The last thing you want is a trained assassin hunting for you!”

“In here Nat!” Bruce’s voice rang out from the other end of the floor. 

“Good afternoon, Dr Jones,” Natasha said and strode off to find Bruce.

Martha, slightly shaken from the conversation, turned and scurried into her office.

* * *

Steve hustled through the lobby of Martha’s apartment building and waited impatiently while the elevator slowly climbed to the twelfth floor. 

It wasn’t a date, he told himself, but he was nervous as though it were. He came up with reasons to explain his anxiety until he convinced himself that he was not going on a date with Martha. Not that he was opposed to dating Martha, it was just… Steve sighed. Even in his head he had difficulties with beautiful women. 

_ “If it were a date it wouldn’t be at Yankee Stadium,”  _ he thought and then he cursed Natasha and Clint for putting the notion of the game being a date into his head. Natasha had found him and Clint training the day before and joined in. It hadn’t taken long for her to bring up the fact that Martha was going with him to the game and Clint had immediately started grilling him about the “date.”

“I don’t know what dating was like in the forties but don’t bring her a corsage or anything like that. Keep things simple. Are you picking her up on your motorcycle? Because women dig guys on motorcycles,” Clint had said.

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure it is!”

“I was originally going to this game with you, Barton. Was it a date then?”

“Absolutely. It was a man-date, to bond over baseball and beer.”

“I don’t even know what that means. Can we just train please?”

“You know she asked me what she should wear,” Natasha had told him as she dodged one of Clint’s arrows. “She’s nervous too.”

“I’m not nervous!” he had yelled while throwing his S.H.I.E.L.D. at Clint. “Wait, she’s nervous?”

Clint had laughed loudly and shouted “Date!” before firing a pair of trick arrows. That had been the end of the discussion.

Steve stopped outside of apartment 12E and took a deep breath. He could hear music playing inside. As he exhaled, Steve brought his hand to the door and rapped four times.

The music stopped and Steve heard the approach of soft footfalls. A moment later the deadbolts and chain rattled and the door swung open.

Martha stood at the threshold in tight dark jeans and a fitted plum colored tee. She was barefoot and holding one sock in her hand.

“Hi,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Come on in, make yourself at home. I’ll be ready just as soon as I find a sock. My washing machine kicked off this week so I had to haul everything to a laundromat. I’m convinced that I left half my wardrobe there because I cannot find anything. Sorry, manners. Would you like a tea or coffee?”

“No thanks,” Steve politely declined. “And there’s no rush. I’m a bit early.”

“Terrific. As I said, make yourself at home. Feel free to snoop,” she called as she walked down the short corridor to another room.

Steve chuckled and then began to look around the apartment. The walls were white with little decor and the sofa was a soft beige but it had been given a touch of personality with an assortment of colorful throw pillows. The place was tidy but not overly so as Steve noted an errant coffee mug, a disheveled stack of U.N.I.T. and S.H.I.E.L.D. papers, and an open package of cookies on the coffee table. 

From the other room, Steve could hear Martha singing to herself the song that had been playing when he arrived. Her voice was warm and strong and pleasant to hear.

_ “Know one moment doesn’t pass that you’re not on my mind. All the stars in all the sky will burn for you. All the stars in all the sky will see you through. One day I will return and we’ll shine again as bright as all the stars.” _

Smiling, Steve took a few steps toward the end table to examine a series of framed photos.

One photo was of a family of five dressed in their Sunday best and in the middle child Steve recognized Martha’s smile. Another frame contained two more recent pictures, one of Martha and a woman who Steve surmised to be her sister Tish and another of her with a man who held a small child, her nephew and brother Leo, he guessed.

In a collage frame he saw a photo of Martha in a fierce hug with a man dressed in forties era clothes as well as pictures of her with her parents and a man he assumed to be her grandfather. There was one slot empty in the frame. Steve’s eyes scanned the tabletop and carpet and on the floor he found an upside down photo. He knelt to retrieve it and turned it over in his hands.

In the picture, Martha wore a knee length black skirt and a pastel blue blouse. Her arms were wrapped around the waist of a clean shaven dark haired man in a striped pink dress shirt and khakis with one arm draped over Martha’s shoulder. Martha was smiling happily and the man looked to be mid-laugh. They were outdoors, near a tall green hedge and bathed in golden sunlight. At the edge of the photo, Steve saw Martha’s engagement ring winking in the light.

“All right,” Martha said as she reentered the living room, “I have socks and shoes on and I am ready to go out into the world.”

“Who's the guy in the forties get-up?” Steve asked as she approached. 

“That would be Captain Jack Harkness,” she told him with a broad grin. “He used to work for an organization called Torchwood. It was similar to U.N.I.T. but less militaristic and just a single team. More ad hoc but better looking is how he’d put it. Jack’s an incorrigible scoundrel but I love him to bits.”

“Why is he wearing the greatcoat?”

“It’s sort of his affectation. Jack is actually from the future but he always dresses like that - blue trousers, button down shirt, suspenders, and the greatcoat. I’ve never seen him in anything else. He’s asked me about you. Apparently he was a big fan of yours back in the day, went to several of your stage shows and saw most of your films.”

“It might be nice to meet him sometime,” Steve mused. “I’d be happy to talk to someone who remembers my era.”

“That might not be such a great idea. Jack went into explicit detail about how your arse looked in your tights. We’d probably have to peel him off you with a pry bar. You’re exactly his type,” she paused for a moment as if briefly in thought. “Actually, as someone who’s been on the receiving end of his flirting,  _ everyone _ is Jack’s type. Man, woman, alien, doesn’t matter. Anything or one old enough to give consent will work for him.”

Steve laughed uncomfortably then cleared his throat. 

“Is, uh, is this Tom?” he asked, holding out the photo in his hand. Steve watched her stiffen and hold in her breath. “I wasn’t intentionally snooping. It was on the floor and-“

“It’s OK, Steve,” Martha exhaled slowly. “Yes, that’s Tom. Dr. Thomas Milligan, a brilliant physician and terrible fiancée. That was one of our engagement photos. Today would have been our wedding day if I hadn’t left. I’ve had the picture in that frame since right after it was taken and just took it out this morning. I kept it there because moving on from the past, moving on from when you thought things were good, is very, very hard. That’s probably why I nudge you about being in the present so often, because I don’t want you to be like me. And I hope you don’t mind that I wanted to come along to the game as a way to keep from sitting here all day eating chocolate and thinking about my wedding plans.”

Steve spoke softly. “There’s nothing wrong with being like you Martha. And of course I don’t mind. If I’d known I would’ve insisted on your coming with me. It’s not a day for being alone.”

“Thank you.” Martha ran her hand over his shoulder and then gave a little tug at the sleeve of his heather blue t-shirt. “Come on,” she said, “let’s get to this baseball game. You’ll tell me how teams score goals, won’t you?”

“They’re actually called runs, not goals,” he corrected.

Martha grinned. “I know. I spent last night reading about baseball and got the basics of the game. Even watched a couple of documentaries on the sport. What I don’t know is why you’re going to a Yankees game when you don’t like the Yankees.”

He grimaced then explained, “Because as a Brooklyn kid, the Dodgers were the best and only New York team. Fathers disowned their sons for rooting for the Yankees. One of the bigger disappointments of waking up after seventy years was learning that my team had been sold to Los Angeles. I go see the Yankees now because my love of baseball outweighs my hatred for the Yanks.”

Martha’s smile widened and she shook her head. “You sports fans are all the same. My brother and dad would say the same thing if they had to cheer for Arsenal because Chelsea moved. But let’s get a move on. I’m excited to see my first baseball game.”

Steve smiled now. He followed her out of the apartment then led her downstairs to his waiting motorcycle. He handed her the helmet, the one he’d bought so she’d have a helmet to wear, and she promptly scolded him for not having one to wear himself.

“I don’t think the serum would regenerate your brain cells if your gray matter got smeared on the expressway,” she chided, buckling the clasp.

“Only one way to find out. Isn’t that what you science types call an experiment?” he joked, sliding onto the front of the bike. 

Martha climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “All right Scarecrow, when you’ve lost your brains see if I help stuff them back in.”

He laughed and the motorcycle roared to life. 

It took time to navigate traffic and to get into Yankee Stadium. Then Martha wanted to buy a hat and then Steve was emphatic that she must have a hotdog at her first ball game, even if she was going to ruin it with ketchup. The game was close to starting when they finally reached their seats along the third baseline, about a dozen rows up.

“I’m guessing these are good seats?” Martha stated as she settled in.

“These are terrific seats,” Steve responded. He watched her take a bite of her hot dog and said, “Good, right?”

Martha nodded through her mouthful. A moment later she told him, “All right, I’ll concede. They  _ do _ taste better at the ballpark. Not as good as Nathan’s but definitely better than your run of the mill hot dog.”

Steve smirked. “Told ya.”

“Wow,” she drawled. “I never figured you for the ‘I told you so’ type.”

“Only under very specific circumstances.”

A few minutes later Steve’s cell phone rang and he saw Tony’s name on the display. 

“What is it Stark?” he answered.

“Sure you and the good doctor don’t want to join us up here? There’s lots of snazzy stuff and cool people to hang out with. You don’t know what you’re missing,” Tony told him. Sounds of revelry were audible in the background.

“If I come up there I might as well be watching the game on television. Thanks but no thanks. I’m fine down here.”

“How’s the date going?”

Steve sighed. “Natasha or Barton?”

“Both. And a couple of lab techs. And Jarvis.”

“Jarvis?”

“I don’t know what to tell you. He’s everywhere, even in the training room. He gets a little gossipy sometimes. But Pepper and I think it’s great-“

“Pepper?!” Steve interjected.

“What? You know I tell Pepper everything. But Jones is brilliant and beautiful, one hell of a scientist, an even better physician. If you and her is the only thing to come out of this U.N.I.T.-S.H.I.E.L.D. partnership, it’ll be worth it.”

“Just stop Tony. You’re making more out of it than it is.” Steve said in an exasperated tone.

“You should’ve made something more out it a long time ago. Their team has been here, what, seven months and you haven’t made a move yet? I know you were frozen in a glacier for seventy years but that doesn’t mean you have to move like one. I’m telling you man, you’ve got something good in front of you. Don’t let it pass you by.”

“And I’m telling you it’s not like that. Now. Goodbye Tony. Enjoy the game.”

Tony spoke rapidly, “Wait, real quick, just tell me what you’ll do if you end up on KissCam! Romanoff and I have a wager and-“

Steve ended the call with a shake of his head.

“Was Stark trying to convince you of how good they had it in his stadium penthouse?” Martha asked. “Or was he guilting you for not joining in his fun?”

“A little of both, I think.”

“Well, he just doesn’t know what he’s missing down here,” she grinned. 

Steve replied, “I agree.” 

The game lasted several hours until the Yankees finally won by three runs. Martha picked up the rules of the game with ease but still delighted in having Steve tell her what was happening. Even with his intermittent criticisms of the Yankees, he got so much enjoyment out of talking about the game of baseball that Martha had just as much fun watching him as she did the actual game before her. On the walk back to his motorcycle, they talked animatedly over one another about the exciting events of the game until Martha’s phone rang.

“Excuse me for just a moment,” Martha told Steve. “It’s my sister. Won’t take long. Tish? What’s up?”

“What’s up with you?” Tish responded in an elongated voice.

“Um, you called me, remember?”

“Right, so I’ve just gotten home from Kaleisha’s hen night and I’ve just remembered that today, well yesterday for me, was supposed to be your wedding day and I wanted to see how you were holding up but then I remembered that Mum told me you were going on a date with Captain America and I wanted to see how that went,” Tish rambled.

Martha paused, blinked, then said, “Firstly, Mum is  _ completely _ wrong, it wasn’t that at all, and secondly, are you drunk?”

“It was a hen night Martha, of course I’m a little bit drunk right now,” Tish countered. “Now tell me why this wasn’t a date.”

“Because it wasn’t.”

“Martha, you’re my little sister and I love you but you’re incredibly thick sometimes, d’ya know that? You talk about this bloke all the flipping time and you sound totally over the moon just like you did with Tom-“

“And look how that turned out,” Martha snapped.

“Look, although I would not be against it, I’m not saying you need to rush to get Captain America down the aisle with you or anything but you clearly like this man and it’s been more than six months since you broke things off with Tom. You need to start living your life again Martha and that means opening yourself up to other people. You need to let your guard down and take a chance with someone and it might as well be Captain America.”

Martha was silent for a long moment. Her sister’s words were hitting too close for comfort. “Are you going to remember any of this later?” she finally asked.

“I’m not  _ that _ drunk!” Tish objected. “So If this wasn’t a date, did you survive the day intact?”

“It started off a bit rocky but Steve’s a good friend. He kept me occupied with baseball so I wouldn’t wallow over Tom.” 

Tish made a little noise of pleasure and said in a voice dripping with innuendo, “I can think of plenty of ways he could keep me occupied.” 

“All right you slag, I’m cutting you off,” Martha said firmly but kindly. “Eat some crackers, drink a glass of water, take two paracetamol, go to sleep and then thank me later when you’re hangover free.”

“You’re the best, sis. Love you. G’night.”

“Love you too,” Martha ended the call and shoved her phone into her back pocket. She sighed and looked at Steve. “Sorry about that. My sister is a bit of a handful sometimes.”

“Not a problem,” Steve waved away her apology. “Family is important.”

“And inconvenient,” Martha retorted. “So, it’s still pretty early. Do you want to go get a coffee or something? There’s a coffee shop near my apartment. The coffee is good but the pie is the real star of the show.”

“Sounds great. Let’s do it.” 

He took his seat on the motorcycle and Martha climbed on behind him. When her arms were around his waist and her lips close to his ear she quietly and in a tone laden with sincerity told him, “I can’t thank you enough for today Steve. It was exactly what I needed. This has become one of my favorite days in New York.”

Though she could not see it, a slow smile stretched across Steve’s face. Over his shoulder he said, “Yeah, mine too” and then revved the motorcycle.


	7. Halloween

As she finished drawing the last vial of blood from his arm, Martha asked Steve, “Are you coming to Barton’s party tonight?”

He watched as she removed the rubber tubing from his bicep and said, “Nah, I don’t think so. It’s not really my kind of scene.”

“No, don’t say that!” Martha objected sharply. “Darcy, Osgood, and I have coordinated costumes and you _have_ to see them. Please, please, please say you’ll come.”

Steve’s face twisted in consideration. “I don’t know Martha.”

“Come on, please,” she put a cotton ball and tape over the puncture and let her hand linger on his arm. “If you hate it you can leave, just please show up at least.”

Steve looked into her pleading eyes and, after another long moment’s thought, finally relented. “OK. I’ll go. But I’m not going in costume.”

Martha’s smile was full of sunshine. “Thank you. Fifteen minutes. That’s all you have to stay. But you’re not going to regret it.”

“We’ll see about that. What time do I need to be here? It’s in the common area, right?”

“Yes. Since Tony’s in California Clint decided he needed to step up and throw the big party this time. And the party starts at ten. We’ll be here straightaway because Osgood has an early flight tomorrow so she won’t be staying too late.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you would be into Halloween,” Steve commented as Martha shined a penlight in his eyes.

“Normally I’m not. Halloween isn’t a big deal in Britain. We make more out of Bonfire Night than Halloween but since I’m in America I’ve gotten swept up in the spirit of the season. Or the season for spirits, if you will. Besides, I never get the opportunity to partake in fancy dress parties so I’m not letting this chance pass me by.”

Steve had nothing left to say on the matter and let Martha continue her exam. When she was finished, he said, “So Doc, am I going to live?”

She chuckled. “For a long while, provided you don’t keep getting your ribs bruised and your head knocked about and exposing yourself to deadly toxins.”

“On the job hazard,” he quipped. 

“You could always find another job.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself anywhere else.”

“Then I’ll recommend that R&D provide you with a better helmet and improved armor. Can’t do much about the toxins, I’m afraid. As for you, I give you a mostly clean bill of health. Put some ice on those bruises if they give you trouble today and take these for the headache,” she handed him a small bottle of pain relievers. She flashed him a smile. “Now get out of my exam room. I’ve got real injuries to treat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he slid down from the gurney and took two steps toward the door.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” she asked.

“Unless some major disaster happens between now and then, I will be there at ten o’clock,” Steve promised.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You aren’t going to stage some extraction or hostile event just to get out of this party, are you?”

“I didn’t know that was an option but now that you bring it up…”

Martha laughed. “Get out of here. Ten o’clock, mister. Be there.”

Steve shuffled through the rest of his day in a quiet monotone until a quarter to ten p.m. when he changed into a pair of khakis and a green plaid button down shirt. As he tucked in the shirt and fastened his belt, he thought to himself, “Just fifteen minutes.”

Thinking he might go for a ride once he left the party, Steve put on his leather jacket then took the elevator up to the designated party floor. He exited to find the place decorated with plastic skeletons, paper pumpkins, cotton cobwebs, and ghosts in a variety of sizes and styles. A thin fog hovered close to the floor and multicolored lights flashed all around in time to the dance music that was playing. On the other end of the floor, the film _Nosferatu_ was being projected on a long empty wall. At the edges of the room, Steve recognized some lab techs and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents dressed as a pirate, a ballerina, a vampire, a football player, and an airline pilot. 

Mingling with them, Steve saw Clint Barton dressed in a cheap costume version of their fellow Avenger Thor, complete with long blonde wig and plastic hammer. Steve shook his head in amusement and crossed the room.

When he stood beside Clint he said, “I just have one question. Why?”

“And I have an excellent retort for such a question. Why not?” Clint mimicked Thor’s speech pattern and tone. He grinned and dropped the voice, “I was in a party store looking for a good costume and I found the best one imaginable. They had one of you too but I figured Thor was the safer bet since he wouldn’t be here to beat me to a pulp. Why aren’t you dressed up? You could’ve at least worn your old Army get up.”

“I’m just here to see a friend and then I’m leaving,” Steve told him.

“And which _friend_ would that be?” Clint said the word ‘friend’ very pointedly. “Natasha? Bruce? Maria? Or, could it possibly be Dr. Martha Jones? What’s going on with you two these days? Where do you stand after your baseball date?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a date,” he said stubbornly. “Martha and I are not dating. In fact, before this week I’ve hardly seen her since the game. I’ve been busy. I don’t have time to date.”

“But you two find time for late night rendezvous at Jason’s diner, don’t you?” Steve raised his eyebrows and Clint said, “Oh yeah, we all know about those. Nat and I are spies and Tony is the biggest information whore on the planet. One of us was bound to find out sooner or later. Almost like clockwork, every couple of weeks, you two stroll down to Jason’s and spend hours drinking coffee and talking late into night.”

“People can just be friends, Barton,” Steve said firmly.

“Not when they look at each other like you and Martha do.”

Steve felt his face warm with a flush of anger and annoyance. “Why can’t you all just stay the hell out of my business? I know you all think the meddling is fun but you can all just leave my personal life alone. Don’t talk to me about this again.”

Forgetting the reason he had come to the party in the first place, Steve turned and stormed toward the elevator. As he pressed the button, the doors slid open and he found himself staring face to face with Osgood, though it took him a moment to recognize her through the green face paint. 

His eyes scanned her over quickly and he realized she was dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West. 

“Hey, Cap,” Darcy greeted him cheerily. He looked to his right and saw her, hair in pigtails, carrying a woven basket with a toy dog and wearing a blue gingham dress with sparkling red shoes, dressed as Dorothy Gale.

A voice piped up from the back corner of the elevator, “I know we’re a little behind schedule but it can’t have been fifteen minutes already.”

Osgood and Darcy exited, leaving Steve with a full view of Martha in a glittery pink ball gown and a curly wig affixed with a tall silver crown.

“Wow,” Steve murmured.

Martha pointed her silver wand at him as she stepped off the elevator. “Trying to sneak out early were you?”

“No, I, uh,” he stammered.

She laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, Rogers. Just admit that I caught you red handed and then tell me how much you like my costume.”

“I really like your costume,” he said sincerely.

Martha gave a little curtsy. “Thank you. I told you I’d look good in a fancy frock and crown.”

“You did tell me that. Glad I got to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly. One hand went up to her curls, “The wig may have to go, though. It’s pretty hot under all this fake hair.” She threw aside a bundle of voluminous skirt and stepped to his side. Looping her arm through his, Martha said, “Stay a little while longer. If you absolutely hate it, you can flee and I’ll not judge you a coward.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I’m lying,” she deadpanned. “I will totally judge you for being too cowardly to hang out at a party. I won’t make you dance, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve’s mouth tightened in consideration then morphed into a sly smile. “Then I guess this lion needs to find his courage. I’ll stay awhile longer.”

Martha beamed and squeezed his arm. “You won’t regret it, Captain. You’ll have so much fun you’ll wish this night would go on forever,” she said and led him back towards the party. Steve caught Clint’s eye as he returned but made a concerted effort to ignore the smug look on the archer’s face.

With Martha’s help and insistence, Steve began to enjoy himself at the party. He mingled with the S.H.I.E.L.D. officers and lab techs, teamed up with Martha to play a few party games, and let Darcy bend his ear with music suggestions. But after a few hours, Martha leaned in close and said, “I’m getting too warm. If I don’t get some air I’m gonna pass out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Come with me,” Steve told her, putting a supportive arm around her waist. He led her around to the opposite side of the floor and entered an unused room. He went to an empty wall and began running his hand along it. After a moment, he gave the wall a push and the outline of a doorframe appeared. He pushed again and there was a click followed by a door sliding open to reveal a hidden elevator. 

“What on earth?” Martha said in surprise.

“Tony put in a private elevator because, well, because he’s Tony. Pepper needed my help one day and she took me up in it,” Steve told her as he called the elevator car. 

When they stepped inside, Jarvis spoke to them, _“I’m sorry Captain Rogers, Doctor Jones, but you are not authorized to be in Mr. Stark’s private elevator.”_

“Pepper authorized me,” Steve told the AI. 

There was a beat of silence before Jarvis said, _“It appears you are correct. Ms. Potts has given you authorization. My apologies, Captain Rogers.”_

They rode the elevator to what Steve called Tony’s penthouse. It was the floor that extended out over the rest of the building to accommodate the Iron Man landing pad. When they stepped off the elevator and into the large dimly lit room, Martha peeled off her Glinda wig and crown and deposited them on the nearby countertop then made a line for the balcony.

She breathed in gulps of cool night air and then sighed heavily. Steve approached her with a bottle of water he found behind the bar and she thanked him. After drinking thirstily, Martha said, “Thanks for coming to my rescue and for getting me up here.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Not a problem.”

Silence hung between them for a few moments until Martha told him, “I won’t hold it against you if you want to leave. The Cowardly Lion found his courage after all, so you’re free to run away whenever you’d like.”

Steve chuckled. “I’ll admit, I was having fun at the party but I’m just as happy to be done with it. That said, I’m not in any hurry to leave.”

Martha drank more water and Steve studied her in the night light of New York. Without the wig and wand to make her Glinda, she was simply a woman in a very fancy dress. It suited her somehow or rather she suited it. It was frilly and sparkly beyond measure and nothing like he would’ve ever imagined her wearing but, Steve noticed, Martha, unlike Tony who built his own world and stayed out of the real one as much as possible, had a way of shaping the world and making it work in her favor.

“How do you do that?” he wondered aloud, causing her to turn and look at him. “How do you adapt to everything and make it better than before?”

She finished her water with a smile. “It’s called being the middle child. Too young for my older sister, too old for my little brother, overlooked by my parents, I grew up with a life of compromise. I’m the peacemaker between Tish and Leo and between my parents. I have to tailor myself to a given situation and make sure that everyone is at least halfway happy at the end of it. I can’t take sides so neutrality leaves me free to look out for my own happiness while I'm negotiating theirs.”

Steve mulled over her words but she continued, “I work hard to be happy. People think that happy is just something you are or you aren’t but you have to put in the effort. That’s not to say I haven’t detoured into unhappiness a time or two. After The Year, when I walked the world for the Doctor, it took me a long time to feel comfortable in my own skin and get back to happy again.”

“Will you tell me about it? The Year?” he asked solemnly. She had said that someday she would tell him the not so good things she had done for the Doctor. He wanted to hear about her other life, the one that brought her to U.N.I.T. and inevitably into his world.

Martha took a deep breath then slowly exhaled. “For that, I will need something more than water. Tony has a secret elevator, I wonder if he has a secret snack chamber.”

She walked back inside and began to pillage Tony’s bar then took out a bottle of Scotch and two crystal tumblers. 

“You know alcohol has no effect on me, right?”

“I know,” she cracked the seal on the bottle, “and it’s not like I’m challenging you to a drinking game or anything. But I am having a drink, or several, and it’s impolite to let me drink alone.” She teasingly scoffed, “And I thought you were a gentleman.”

He chuckled. “All right then, pour me a glass.”

Drinks being made, Steve followed Martha to the long curved sofa set into the lower level of the room. Though he could no longer get drunk, he thought to himself that he still enjoyed the ritual of it all - the delicate clink of ice cubes, the feel of the glass in his fingers, the fire and spark that slid down his throat and settled in his stomach. 

Martha took a long drink and sighed. Steeling herself she said, “We’ve all got old secrets. Old lies. Old scars. Scars in places that can’t be seen. I’m a doctor, you’d think I’d know how to heal the scars but I can’t seem to get rid of them.” She took another slow sip. “Right then. To explain The Year, I first have to explain the Doctor.”

She began telling him of how she first met the Doctor, of their adventure on the moon and of Shakespeare and of New York’s past and future. Steve had read some of the stories in her file but hearing her tell them brought life to the sterile words he’d read on the page. Quickly and quietly, she told him of the Doctor’s former companion Rose and how inadequate she’d felt in the other woman’s shadow. 

She told him of The Master, how he’d kept the Doctor in a cage, how he’d tortured Captain Harkness, how he’d kept her family enslaved. Steve felt a pit in his stomach at the thought of her experiencing such familiar evil.

Martha explained the Archangel Network and the Doctor’s directive. Tell a story. No weapons, just words. She told him of walking through scorching deserts and frozen plains, walking to the point of collapse then pulling herself off the ground to walk even further. She told him of the Resistance and the people she encountered, of the terrified faces who looked to her for hope. She began to shake when she told him how she’d been one of the only ones to the escape the burning of Japan and recounted the horrors of witnessing an entire country and its people in flames. 

She told him of facing the Master on the Valiant and he marveled at her courage.

Staring straight ahead, unable to bear the silent compassion in Steve’s eyes, Martha told him, “And then the paradox collapsed in on itself. Time reversed and the Master’s reign ended. In the rush of a few minutes, that year that I spent on the run, some days existing on only the breath I had in my body, clawing my way across the mud and rocks of this earth in an attempt to save it, suddenly it never happened.” Her voice faltered and Steve noticed tears streaming down her face.

“And sometimes I get _so angry_ that no one remembers. My family, they were together, they have a shared experience. They have each other for commiseration. The people who helped me in the Resistance, I’ve met some of them again, Director Fury and Maria Hill among them, and there’s never even a glimmer of recognition in their eyes.

“It’s not like I’m after a medal or parade or anything,” she swiped brusquely at her tears, smearing some of her shimmery makeup. “I just don’t want to feel so alone all of the time.” 

Martha let out a groan of a sigh. “I _hate_ the Doctor. I mean, I still love him to bits and I always will but I hate what he did to me, hate him for putting me through the worst things a human could endure and then just ripping it away like what happened to me didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. Like I was just a tool for him to use. He fashioned me into a weapon and gave no thought to how I’d fare when he was finished.”

She looked at Steve then. “You asked me earlier how I adapt to everything and make it better than before. Because it’s all I know how to do. It’s how the Doctor made me. I explained the middle child thing and it’s true, but the Doctor exploited it. He made me feel second best so that I’d keep striving to do better. Not only to do better, but to do better for him. Then I gave the absolute best I could ever give and saved the whole bloody world and no one can ever know.” She looked away again. “Old scars. They go too deep sometimes.”

Seemingly finished speaking, Martha picked up the now empty bottle of Scotch and hefted it in her hands, as if she needed something tangible to ground her in the present again.

Steve thought to himself that he’d been right all those months ago. Martha was a soldier but she’d been in an army of one. In his war, he’d had a line of people giving him the support he needed to make the tough calls. Bucky, Peggy, the Howling Commandos, Howard Stark, Colonel Phillips, each of them had given him guidance and encouragement. Martha had fought her war alone. She fought alone to save the world and now it seemed she carried it on her shoulders.

Steve did the only thing he could think to do. He rose from the sofa and stood at attention. Raising his hand in salute, he said solemnly and with gratitude, “Dr. Martha Jones, thank you for your service.”

She looked up at him and gave a wavering chuckle. She gave a little salute of her own and said, “Thank you, Captain Rogers. At ease.”

He lowered himself back down to the couch but inched a little closer to her, as if his proximity could provide a measure of comfort.

Martha sniffled. “I’m sorry for drowning you in my stream of consciousness. I should’ve thrown you a life preserver at some point.” 

“No need,” he said. “I kept my head above water.”

A long quiet settled between them before Steve finally said, “Thank you for telling me.”

She gave a little shrug. “You’ve told me about your past and the war. It was time I gave you something in return.” 

A moment later, Martha stood and began a slow walk to the balcony, her extensive skirt softly crinkling as she moved. Steve gave her a few minutes alone until he noticed her wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. He retrieved his leather and followed her outside. Wordlessly, he draped the jacket over her shoulders.

She looked up at him, a well of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Hey I’m a gentleman, remember?” he smiled gently. After a beat he asked, “Are you feeling better?”

Martha nodded. “Yeah. Not as raw now. I’ll feel better in the morning. But Halloween feels like a good time to have done this. I’ve exorcised some demons and I can leave a few ghosts behind.”

“It’s almost morning now,” Steve jerked his head toward the lightening sky. There was a faint trace of scarlet and gold at the edges of the skyscrapers in the distance. 

He thought then about something she’d said at the party. That he’d wish for the night to go on forever. She had been right in the end. He found himself wishing for an endless night, so that they could go on as they were now. Not that he wanted her in pain, but he wanted to further strengthen the deepening bond between them. He wanted to tell her more about Bucky, about Dr. Erskine, about how he sometimes still felt like that skinny kid from Brooklyn. He even wanted to tell her all about Peggy and how much it hurt to wake up after seventy years and find out that, not just their date, but an entire lifetime had passed him by. But the sun continued to rise, banishing the profoundness of the night in its dawning rays.

Martha turned to face him. “Know what would make me feel better? A Garbage Pail from Jason’s. I’m starving. C’mon,” she nudged his arm, “I’ll take you to breakfast.”

Steve grinned. “Breakfast sounds good. But it’s my turn to pay. You bought the coffee and pie last time.”

She rolled her eyes, . “Whatever. I’ve got some scrubs in my lab. Let me run down there and change.”

“You mean you don’t want to go dressed like that?”

“Fat chance. The dress is unbelievably hot and itchy. Though it is New York, so it’s not like anyone would actually notice a black woman dressed as Glinda the Good Witch sitting in a diner at the crack of dawn.” She pursed her lips in brief contemplation. “Maybe I’ll just wear the crown.”

Steve laughed loudly and followed her back inside. She returned his jacket, retrieved her wig and crown, and moved to the elevator. He waited outside her office while she changed into sneakers and a pale lavender set of scrubs. Throwing on her black wool coat she said, “Now, let’s go get some food. Did I mention I’m starving?”

“Yes, you did. Fried egg and toast with your Garbage Pail?” Steve hit the call button on the main elevator. 

“No, I think I want scrambled eggs and pancakes this time. Can’t this elevator go any faster? I’ve gone from not hungry at all to ravenous in point zero seven seconds.” She changed the subject, “So Darcy gave you more music suggestions, yeah?”

“She did. David Bowie, Elton John, and Queen. She spent a lot of time talking about David Bowie. Is he the one who wears the makeup and the spangly outfits?”

She laughed, “Steve there was an entire era of what’s called glam rock and you just described three quarters of all the musicians between the late seventies and through the eighties. That describes both David Bowie and Elton John, actually.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Martha laughed again. “I’ll introduce you to some tamer artists of the era first. We can work our way up to Bowie. But quickly though. And fair warning, this friendship might be over if you don’t like David Bowie. He’s one of my favorite musicians ever.”

“Nice try Jones,” Steve smirked, “but you cannot bully me into liking your music. I’ll get there in my own time.”

The elevator door opened at the ground level. She scoffed as she exited and said, “Sometimes I forget that you’re ninety-some odd years old.” She linked arms with him. “Come on you old geezer. While we walk you can tell me all about how you cried during _Dumbo_ in its original theatrical run.”

“Have you seen _Dumbo?_ Some parts of that movie are very sad!” he objected and Martha doubled over laughing. 

After the night they’d had in the quiet dark reliving the painful past, seeing Martha laugh in the brightening daylight of the morning did Steve’s heart good, even if she was laughing at his expense.

“Don’t worry Steve, your secret is safe with me,” she winked. “Now come on. You might be ninety-something years old but you don’t have to move like it.”


	8. Thanksgiving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by episode 05x05 of _Eureka_ , "Jack of All Trades." Includes references to _Eureka_ characters, Henry Deacon and Grace Monroe.

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the gurney as Martha leaned in and shined a penlight in his eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re making us stay here,” he grumbled.

Martha clicked off the penlight and then gave him a hard stare. “You and Clint BODY SWAPPED today!” she yelled at him. “You’re not leaving my lab until I know more about why it happened. Besides, in the event that it’s proximity related, I do not want you interacting with the rest of the team. You and Clint I can just about handle but I  _ do not _ want to have Tony Stark as my patient. Until further notice you’re both quarantined here in my lab so you best get used to it, mister.”

From the other gurney, Clint piped up, “And how long do you plan to keep us imprisoned here, Doctor Jones? Are we going to miss Thanksgiving? Because I have very important plans, you know.”

Martha crossed her arms over her chest and replied with a healthy dose of attitude, “Blimey, aren’t you dramatic? You’ll stay here until I’ve cleared you to leave. You’ve both got concussions so you’d be here for observation anyways. So you best get comfy because you’ll be here for at least a day or two until we can figure out a way to prevent the neural swaps from happening.”

“Yes ma’am,” Clint said with a faint sarcastic inflection. 

After sending a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to fetch their belongings, she set them up in the glass cubicles in the far end of the examination room. Intended as short term intensive care units, each cubicle had a bed, a small table, and heavy green curtains that afforded the occupants a measure of privacy. Clint immediately complained about the lack of television.

“You’ll not be watching any television for the next several hours, Clint,” Martha told him firmly. “You have a concussion. That means limiting activities that require mental concentration, so no telly, no video games, no reading, and no computers or tablets.”

“Come on, at least let me have reality television! It’s completely brainless!” he whined.

“No! You’re already making yourself a pain in my arse, Barton. Keep irritating the woman who’s going to be prodding around in your brain and see where that lands you.”

Martha looked into Steve’s cubicle as he was silently surveying his surroundings. She informed him, “Here in a few minutes, I’ll start running a series of tests on you both. CT scans and MRIs to monitor the severity of your concussions and then a magnetoencephalographic scan to start narrowing down how the neural swap happened in the first place.” 

“You’re the doctor,” he said with a small smile. Then his body went suddenly rigid, his eyes went glassy, and he loudly gasped. After a moment, his frame slackened into an easier, almost slouching pose and he let out a guttural groan. 

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled in a cadence that sounded foreign in Steve’s voice. “You’ve  _ got _ to sort these out, Doc. I don’t like being in Steve’s body. I feel all bulky.”

“Clint?” Martha spoke disbelievingly. She had not yet actually witnessed the neural swap herself but had been working off of the data from their suits as well as their own descriptions and those of Natasha Romanoff who had been with them when the incident occured. 

“No, it’s Mr. Rogers. Of course it’s me!”

Steve stepped in from the next room. Martha immediately noted how differently he carried Clint’s posture, the chest expanded, the stance wide, the arms not quite relaxed at his side. “We’ve got to fix this fast,” he said in an intonation much more stilted than Clint ever sounded.

“Right. Absolutely. Let’s get those scans started, shall we?” Martha said and corralled them out of the room.

After a lengthy series of brain scans and hours of monitoring, Martha told Clint and Steve, “I’m going to send these results to a colleague of mine, Doctor Sayana Kusari, for further examination. I know my way around the brain but she’s one of the top neurological scientists in the world. If anyone can figure out what’s happening here it will be her.”

“Thank you Martha,” Steve said sincerely.

“Whatever you have to do to get us back to normal,” Clint told her.

“Why don’t you boys settle down and get some rest? It could be a long couple of days,” Martha suggested. They both bid her a good night and then retreated to their respective cubicles.

Early the next morning, Martha was startled by the sound of Steve’s voice approaching her office through the examination suite. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked.

Martha jumped slightly then looked at him closely. “Are you you or are you Clint?” she questioned.

“I’m me,” he assured. “We swapped back sometime in the night. But you didn’t answer my question. Did you get any sleep at all?”

Martha gestured to the green cot in the corner with the rumpled blanket and squashed pillow. There were dark circles under her eyes, her clothes were wrinkled, and her hair was mussed. “I catnapped here and there. With the time difference, I had to stay awake pretty late to consult with Sayana.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“We did actually. You both currently have a hyperactive axonal cluster in your frontal lobes, which means that there’s an unusual concentration of high speed electrical impulses all in one spot. We’ll need to stop these neural transfers soon before they cause permanent damage but at the moment you’re within normal levels of brain activity so there’s no serious harm currently being done.”

“Any idea what caused it?” Steve wondered.

Martha explained, “I talked with Agent Romanoff about the mission the three of you were on and, going into as much detail as she could, she told me that you were essentially raiding a mad scientist’s lab. To be fair, she used the words ‘an unsanctioned experimental scientific research facility’ but mad scientist is far more succinct. In any case, I found out that one of the experiments in progress when you launched your assault was a malfunctioning matter relocation device. My working theory is that it was operating at a similar frequency to your infra-low brain waves which, when it went ka-blooey, affected your synaptic functioning and disrupted the cortical rhythms that underlie your higher brain functions.”

“Any idea how to get us back to normal?”

“Sayana and I are working on something. We’re creating a device that will emit a tiny electrical field to mimic your brainwave activity and correct the disrupted patterns. It’ll work at a frequency that’ll induce a current to depolarize the neurons and essentially reboot everything. The Tower is pretty empty because of the holiday so I’m trying to track down someone who can actually build the device.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to do brain surgery,” Martha said. Steve’s face blanched and Martha quickly followed with, “No no no, it’s not as bad as it sounds, I promise. Totally non-invasive. It would be little more than an injection, really. I would insert a nanoprobe into your frontal lobe and then deliver a short electrical burst to break up the axonal cluster. You wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“It’s OK, Martha. I trust you. I know I’m in good hands,” Steve said.

From the adjoining room came a shout, “Are you going to feed us here or what? Don’t prisons keep a regular feeding schedule for the inmates?”

Martha rolled her eyes and stood up from her desk. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you. The warden only knows how to make lumpy porridge,” she yelled back. To Steve she said, “Seemingly, out of her concern for Clint, Agent Romanoff has kindly offered her services as my gopher. She’s bringing breakfast here momentarily.”

While they waited for Natasha to arrive with food, Martha gave them each a quick once over and checked their cognitive abilities to test for lingering symptoms of their concussions. Eventually, Natasha came with several canvas tote bags full of fresh fruit, bagels, juice, assorted snacks and a carrier full of hot coffee. 

Since they had pinpointed the cause of the neural swaps and it seemed contained to only Clint and Steve, Martha felt safe enough leaving them alone in Natasha’s company while she snuck off to the restroom to brush her teeth, wash her face, and change into a pair of lavender scrubs. There was no salvaging her hair so it went into ponytail. She reemerged feeling more or less human again and joined Steve, Clint, and Natasha in the examination suite where they had turned one of the gurneys into a buffet. 

Martha accepted the coffee Steve held out toward her and, desperate for caffeine, took a long sip without bothering to add sugar or creamer to it first. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the cream and sugar had already been added. She raised her eyebrows at Steve and he flashed her a little grin.

“Thanks,” she said, lifting her cup to him then reaching for an apple.

“So Doc, when do you think you’ll be able to let these two go free?” Natasha asked as she stole a strawberry from Clint’s plate.

Around her bite of apple, Martha answered, “It depends on how quickly we can get Sayana’s device built. Once we have the device, it shouldn’t take long to correct their disrupted brainwave patterns. But because of the holiday, the Tower is fairly empty. Finding someone to actually build the thing is proving difficult.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Give me a few hours and I’ll see who I can rustle up for you. Tony left for the Riviera this morning but I’ll drag him back if I have to,” she said and strode out of the lab.

“So are we just hanging out here until we get this device? Isn’t there anything else you can do instead?” Clint asked through a mouthful of sesame bagel.

“The other option is brain surgery,” she told him, “and I’d rather not have that be our first response. As minimally invasive as the procedure would be, it’s still brain surgery and it still comes with a laundry list of risks. If Agent Romanoff can find us someone to build Sayana’s device today and it works like we believe it should then you’ll be out of here in time for your turkey dinner tomorrow.”

Clint didn’t seem too pleased with the answer but appeared to accept it nonetheless. “Can you at least give us TV privileges back?”

“Yes, I will re-grant you your entertainment privileges. Books, telly, video games, the whole lot. Whatever you want to do to occupy yourself for the remainder of your stay in my lab. But first, more scans.”

Martha ran more scans and administered more tests before leaving them to their own devices while she sorted through the data and contacted Doctor Kusari. The neural swaps happened a few more times as the day wore on and it was Steve as Clint who approached her late in the afternoon. 

“Why don’t you take a break?” he asked from the door of her office. “You’ve been at this nonstop since first thing this morning. You’re no good to us if you’re dead on your feet.”

Martha looked up at him a bit bleary eyed. She had been staring at the same readout for an hour trying to make sense of it. She blinked a few times and then replied, “What?”

Steve gave a small smile which looked almost sarcastic on Clint’s face. Martha idly realized that Clint must carry his emotions in his eyes because his mouth made everything seem mocking and sardonic. He crossed the room and held out his hands to her.

“Come on. Step away from the computer and the coffee and come play some cards with me.”

Martha stared up at him then looked at the coffeemaker. She’d nabbed the one out of the common area and placed it on the end of her desk so that caffeine was always at arms reach.

“But I need the coffee,” she objected. 

“I think you can go without it for ten minutes. Come on,” he took her hands and pulled her to her feet before leading her to his cubicle.

“Does Clint want to play?” she asked as she watched him sit at the head of his bed and pick up a pack of cards.

“He’s busy listening to music,” Steve explained. “He said something about taking advantage of having my ears then he put on a pair of headphones and hasn’t taken them off in a couple of hours.”

Martha gave a nod of understanding then climbed onto the foot of the bed and curled her feet beneath her. They started by playing a simple game of War and trading questions with one another. 

“Favorite film you saw at the cinema. Before the war,” Martha laid down the two of spades.

Steve laid down the ten of clubs. “ _ The Wizard of Oz _ is high on the list but I think it would have to be  _ The Adventures of Robin Hood _ . Errol Flynn sure made some great heroic action movies. What about you?”

“ _ The Princess Bride. _ It was one of the earliest films I saw in the cinema and I was just absolutely captivated by it. It’s a film that has everything. Fencing, fighting, revenge, true love, miracles.”

“Oh yeah, people have told me about that one,” Steve played the queen of diamonds. “It’s on my list.”

Martha played the ace of hearts and snatched up his queen. “I’d offer to watch it with you but that would probably make you hate it. I would quote the entire thing from start to finish and then you’d hate both me and the movie. Now, what’s a question you’ve wanted to ask me but haven’t?”

After a long moment, he finally asked, “The tattoo on your arm. I’ve wondered for a long time...what does it mean?”

Martha studied him for a beat, trying to read his expression and decipher the extra long pause he’d taken before asking his question. It was still strange looking at Clint’s face and knowing she was talking to Steve. Body swap scenarios always played out so comically on television but to have one happen in real life was a headache beyond imagination. 

“Yashal. It’s an Arabic name.”

“Oh. Is that a relative? A friend? An old boyfriend?” 

It was a strangely forward question for Steve but it sounded completely normal in Clint’s voice. 

She answered, “It’s me. Well, sort of. During the Year, when I was walking the world, I was in Bahrain telling the story of the Doctor and an elderly man approached me with the translator and said, ‘You, you are Yashal. You are soft like snow but strong like the mountains. You are kindling a fire and bringing light to the darkness. You bring hope, Yashal.’ It stuck with me. I carried the name close to my heart and when I struggled I would tell myself ‘I am Yashal and I am kindling the fire.’ After the reset and everything went back to exactly how it was, I needed something to mark that it had happened and Yashal just seemed fitting.”

“What seemed fitting?”

Martha’s eyes narrowed. “Clint?” 

“Yeah. What seemed fitting?” he asked in a confused tone.

Steve came hurrying in from the other cubicle, a pair of headphones dangling from his neck. “Was there more after ‘I need something to mark that it had happened?’ Did I miss something?”

Martha rolled her eyes and loudly groaned. “I swear, we need a code word for when the neural swaps happen.” She gestured to Steve. “I trust him with my dark secrets but I’m still undecided about you,” she told Clint. 

In an injured tone he said, “Oh come on, Martha! I thought we were bonding. Tell me your dark secrets, I won’t blab!”

“Not a chance,” she swung her legs down off the bed and brushed past Steve as she headed back to her office.

Clint’s voice followed after her. “I’m a secret agent, you know! I could find out if I really wanted to!”

It was late that evening when Natasha came back to the Tower carrying a medium sized box.

“It took some doing but I found Doctors Monroe and Deacon and convinced them to put these together,” she said and handed the box to Martha.

“How did you manage that? I thought Grace and Henry were off in Washington State?” Martha tore open the box and beheld two of Doctor Kursari’s devices. 

Natasha shrugged. “I went to Washington. I know you’ve worked with them through U.N.I.T. and Tony’s connected to Henry Deacon through governmental contracts with the military. Grace Monroe is a neuroscientist, Henry Deacon is a master of all trades, and they’re both mechanics. I figured if anyone was going to put together this device, it should be them.”

“I tried reaching out to them first but couldn’t get in contact,” Martha said.

“Eh, the facility where they work was having some sort of meltdown but it’s all sorted now. And I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

Of that, Martha had no doubt. She pulled a set of papers from the box and skimmed over Grace’s instructions. She told Natasha, “I’ve got to calibrate each device to some pretty precise measurements so it will likely be tomorrow before we’ll know if they work. But thank you so much for doing this, Agent Romanoff.”

“We’re a team,” Natasha said. “Teams help each other out. You get to work on that. I’m gonna go keep the boys company for awhile.”

Natasha kept Steve and Clint occupied for a time and then ended up staying through the night, helping Martha with the devices. Martha was grateful for her presence and her assistance though she still maintained a healthy dose of fear where the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was concerned. The next morning, when Clint strode into Martha’s office demanding to know when the show would get on the road, Natasha very firmly told him, “The devices have to finish calibrating. You like balloons, go watch the parade.”

It wasn’t long after breakfast that Martha addressed Steve and Clint, holding one of the devices.

“So here’s what going to happen,” she said. “This part goes around your head and this piece sits at the base of your skull. It’ll be hooked up to one of these little black boxes which will provide the neurosignaling that should reboot your altered brain waves. It will take several hours and will likely lull you to sleep, so don’t be alarmed. I have three-dimensional deep brain neurofeedback interfaces set up so I will be closely monitoring your brain activity the entire time. Hopefully, this will breakup the hyperactive axonal cluster and you’ll both go back to normal. Are you ready to begin?”

Not surprisingly, Clint impatiently asked to be set up first. Martha set him up on a gurney in the examination suite, attached several electrodes to his head and chest to monitor his vitals, then slipped on the device and plugged it into the electroencephalogram amplifier. Once he was ready, she moved on to prepare Steve.

“Any last questions or concerns?” she asked, adjusting the band of the device so that it snugly fit around his forehead. 

“No,” he said. “I’m not worried. I know I’m in good hands.”

She grinned. “Thanks for having faith in me.”

Once the devices were turned on, the procedure turned into a tense, excruciating waiting game. For the next three hours, while Natasha paced and hovered at Clint’s side, Martha’s eyes shifted from the scan of Clint’s brain to the one of Steve’s, watching the areas where the axonal clusters were lit gold in contrast to the blue brain maps. Ever so slowly, the clusters began to dissipate and eventually the gold faded completely. The device appeared to have done its job.

Martha let out a heavy sigh and Natasha abruptly demanded, “That’s it, right? The cluster is gone. Are they back to normal now?”

“I want to keep them here a little while longer for observation just to make sure but yes, it appears they’re back to normal. Well, as normal as they ever were.”

Martha turned off the devices and removed the hardware from Steve and then Clint. They awakened a short time later and Martha began to administer a series of cognitive ability tests.

“Parents names?” she quizzed Steve.

“Joseph and Sarah Rogers.”

“Siblings names?”

“I don’t have any siblings.”

“Then what are my siblings names?”

“Tish and Leo.”

Satisfied with his concentration and recall abilities and his seemingly unaffected memory, Martha moved on to Clint after asking Steve a couple of dozen more questions. When Clint had satisfactorily, if hurriedly, answered all of her questions and the two of them had submitted to tests of their vision, hearing, balance, coordination, and reflexes, the archer asked yet again, “Can we  _ please _ go now?”

Martha sighed. “Your vitals appear to be normal and you both seem to be fine following the procedure. I’d prefer to keep you overnight again for further observation but I know you’ll probably crawl out through the air vents if I do so, yes you can go now.” 

As Clint leapt from the gurney, she proclaimed, “But! But, you are to have someone stay close by you for the next couple of days and you’re to come straight back here if you experience anything out of the ordinary. Do I make myself clear, Clint Barton?”

“Yes, absolutely. Crystal clear,” he said and sprinted to his cubicle to gather his belongings.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” Natasha said. “He’ll have someone looking after him. And I’ll make sure he gets in touch if anything happens.”

Clint came racing back into the examination suite and suddenly grabbed Martha in a rough but exuberant embrace. “Thank you so much for everything you did Martha,” he said. As he released her, he spoke to Natasha before jogging out of the room with his duffel bag bouncing on his back. “Come on Nat, let’s go! It’s Thanksgiving and I’ve got places to be!”

With a roll of her eyes and a weary sigh, Natasha followed him to the door. “Thanks for all your help, Doc.”

When they were left alone, Steve and Martha exchanged a long look.

“Well…” he drawled.

“Yes, well.”

While Martha set about putting away the equipment, Steve, unbidden, began removing the sheets and blankets from the gurneys and cubicle beds. 

“My mom was a nurse, remember?” he said by way of explanation after she’d given him a puzzled look. After a time spent straightening and tidying, Steve asked, “Is there anything else that can’t wait or the cleaners can’t take care of later?”

Martha looked around the examination suite and glanced in her office. “No, I suppose not.”

“Great,” he said. “Because it’s Thanksgiving and I want to show my gratitude for all of your hard work and care over the last few days by taking you out to dinner. Unless you had some other plans today?”

“No, no,” she told him. “No plans. I’m British so this Thanksgiving holiday is wasted on me. It’s just...I’m a bit shattered just now. I don’t know that I’m up for going out for dinner.”

“Oh,” Steve conveyed a world of disappointment in the single syllable.

“But,” Martha continued, “I would be up for something like, say, pizza and movies at my flat if you’re of a mind. You need to avoid anything strenuous in any case and I’m not letting you go back to your quarters alone. You’ve just had a brain altering procedure after all. The last thing you need to be is by yourself. So what do you say?”

“I say that’s a great idea,” he agreed.

Martha flashed him a tired smile. “All right then, let’s go.”

They each grabbed their things and headed out of her lab for the first time in several days. As she turned off the lights and locked the door behind them, Steve asked, “So, uh, can we watch this movie,  _ The Princess Bride _ , that I’ve heard so much about?”

Martha hooked her arm through his as they walked to the bank of elevators and, grinning, she told him, “As you wish.”

 


	9. Christmas

“You aren’t too cold are you?” Steve asked, looking at Martha’s attire. She wore black tights under a knee length black dress with calf height black boots. Her hands were stuffed in the pockets of her woolen coat and she had a thick lavender scarf wrapped in multiple loops around her throat. 

“Steve,” Martha looked up at him, “we have winter in London, you know. I have experienced cold weather before in my life.”

“Sorry. I just…” Steve looked down at his shoes. 

“You were just being you. Your thoughtfulness is much appreciated. Now, we were talking Christmas favorites and it’s my turn to ask a question. Umm,” she drawled. “Favorite gift from Father Christmas?” 

The crosswalk sign changed and they moved briskly to the other side of the street.

“A new bat and baseball,” he replied with a nostalgic smile. “I was a sickly kid so I didn’t get to play much but getting a new bat and ball, especially when my folks didn’t have much money, it felt like a million bucks. What’s yours?”

“A stethoscope and a book about human anatomy. A proper book too, not a children’s book about the body. I broke my arm when I was a kid and the whole process of the x-rays and setting the bone and getting a cast, it all fascinated me and I knew right then I wanted to be a doctor. Your turn.”

“Uhhh,” Steve pondered for a moment. “Favorite Christmas song?”

“I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day by Wizzard,” she said with a big grin. “Big fan of glam rock, me.” 

Steve’s brows knitted in confusion for a moment before he said, “Sorry, I meant Christmas carol.”

“I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day by Wizzard,” she repeated. Martha laughed, “No, no, I’m kidding. The First Noel.”

“Silent Night,” Steve told her. 

“Now for an ambitious one. Favorite Christmas ever?” she asked. 

It took a few moments for Steve to reply, “That’s tough to answer. But, this one is close to the top. You?”

Martha smiled up at him, a warm, affectionate smile. “Same answer.”

“You know, the sidewalk has some icy patches that could be dangerous in your heels. You could hold onto my arm, just to be safe. If you wanted,” Steve spoke carefully and then cut his eyes to watch her reaction.

The smile on her face changed. “And here you told me that it was your friend Bucky who was good with the ladies,” she gently teased and watched his cold cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. 

Steve hung his head to hide his sheepishness but Martha warmly chuckled and slipped her arm through his. “There,” she said. “Now if I fall I can bring you down with me.”

Steve cleared his throat. “So, uh, what are you getting from the diner? Garbage Pail again?” he asked.

“Not this time. Darcy’s brought in an ungodly amount of sweets the last couple weeks. I should probably get something healthier. Ugh, I need to get back to my workouts too. I’ve been slacking because of the holiday.”

“You could always go running with me in the mornings,” Steve offered.

Martha threw her head back and laughed. “Fat chance of that! Don’t you run thirty miles or something?”

“Not that far,” Steve countered. “And I could modify my regimen.”

“Yeah you’d have to, mister,” she gave his arm a playful tug. “Not everyone is a genetically modified specimen of perfection like you. Most of us are merely mortal and liable to break. Besides, I had my fair share of running when I traveled with the Doctor. The man never stops running and you have to keep up. Not to mention there’s usually something big and scary on your heels trying to eat you. I’ll stick to my yoga and aerobics, thank you very much.”

Steve chuckled. “Whatever you say. But the offer still stands.”

When they arrived at the diner, Steve held open the door and followed Martha to a table by the window. They laughed and talked over their meals and Steve teased her for ordering pie for dessert but helped himself to a piece as well. Steve excused himself to go pay the bill and returned to Martha lingering over her cup of coffee. 

“We should probably head back soon,” she said softly, “but I almost don’t want to. I’ve really grown to enjoy these late night diner excursions of ours.” 

“Me too,” Steve told her. “And we don’t have to go back right away. There’s plenty of time left tonight.”

“Tonight yes but time’s running out in general,” Martha kept her face turned down. “Kate told us this morning that we’ll be wrapping up the joint venture by February. Then it’s back to London for good.” 

“Oh,” Steve murmured. 

Her news felt like a Hulk punch to the gut. He wanted to say more but found the words stuck in his throat. To say he’d grown fond of Martha in the time that their organizations had been working together was an understatement. Their conversations over late night coffee had affected him greatly. In her Steve had found someone to whom he could express his fears and doubts, someone who would educate him on the modern world, someone who helped him ease the burden of the past. He felt a closeness to her that he hadn’t experienced since the war, a sort of undefinable kinship that almost felt tangible at times. He would miss her.

“Oh,” he exhaled.

“Oh,” she echoed. The words had been hard to say. Telling Steve what was coming made it more real. In about six weeks time she would be back in London and there would be no way of knowing when or if they would ever see each other again. She was sorry to have brought it up now but she’d wanted him to know sooner rather than later. 

“I wish we could have more time here. I’m rather fond of New York and I quite like the people I’ve met here. You especially, Steve. When I first came here, I was all out of sorts and you helped me smooth out some of the rough edges of my life. Thank you for that.”

“Likewise,” Steve found his voice again. “You’ve  made things better for me Martha. I’ll never be able to repay you for that.”

Steve saw Martha’s eyes begin to water and he swallowed hard. It was going to be hard to let her go.

Martha quietly sniffled. “Well look, I’m not going anywhere for a few more weeks so we can stop with the teary farewells. Now let me walk you back to the Tower.”

Nodding, Steve rose from his seat and shrugged on his coat. Then he held out Martha’s coat for her and slid it onto her arms. He briefly laid his hands on her shoulders and she reached up to touch her fingers to his.

“Thanks,” she said softly as his hand slid away. Once she’d finished looping the scarf around her neck, Steve held open the door and they walked out into the cold winter air. Wordlessly, Martha hooked her arm around Steve’s and they walked silently back toward the Tower. 

As they stepped inside the front lobby, Martha’s phone began to ring. “Sorry,” she looked at Steve apologetically and took out her cell phone. “Hello? Happy Christmas to you too, Tish. Hi Leo. What are you doing up at three o’clock in the morning? Putting together the baby’s presents. You and Leo got into the port, I take it? Well don’t let Mum catch you.”

Steve took a few steps away to give her a measure of privacy and saw Clint exiting the elevator. 

“Evening, Cap,” Clint greeted as he pulled on a pair of heavy gloves. “You’re out kinda late, aren’t you?”

“I could say the same about you. Where you headed?” Steve nodded his head toward the duffel bag slung over Clint’s shoulder.

“Oh, I’ve got somewhere to be,” the archer replied evasively. He cut his eyes over to where Martha was continuing her phone call and said, “I’d, uh, I’d ask if you had a good time this evening but I don’t want you to take my head off like you did at Halloween.”

Steve gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes, I had a good time this evening but if you’re about to start your wild insinuations about me and Martha again…”

“Come on, man,” Clint lightly hit Steve on the shoulder. “Even at Christmas, a time for peace and love and goodwill, you still can’t be honest with yourself and admit that there’s something going on between you and Martha?”

“Do you think just because you have a bow and arrow that you’re Cupid? Let it go Clint.”

“Hey, I will absolutely go nude and fire an arrow into both your asses if it’ll help move things along,” Clint said fiercely. “You told me yourself that you waited too long with Peggy and then you ended up on ice for seventy years and missed your chance. Don’t make the same mistake again.”

Steve looked down at his feet. He’d already repeated his former mistake and squandered the time allotted to him. When he looked up again, his face was stoic. “Merry Christmas, Clint.”

Clint sighed. “Merry Christmas, Steve.” 

“Good evening, Clint,” Martha said as she approached the pair of them. “Where are you off to on Christmas Eve?”

“Oh you know how it is at Christmas, always somewhere to be. Listen, I’ve got to be going but you have a wonderful holiday and I’ll see you next week. Enjoy the days off. We’ve earned it.”

He reached out and gave her a quick side hug then made his move toward the exit. 

“Merry Christmas!” Martha called after him as the heavy door swung closed.

“So, uh, everything all right with your family?”

Martha rolled her eyes. “Yes, they’re fine. My sister in law has a cold so Tish and Leo stayed up to put together my nephew’s toys. Since kids toys typically require an engineering degree to assemble, they celebrated the completion of the first toy with a glass of port and then kept going. Three glasses in, they decided they missed me and wanted to call. I promise, my family does call me when they’re sober. Drunk dialing isn’t a regular occurrence.”

Steve laughed and moved to hit the elevator button.

“You know,” Martha said, a slight change in her tone, “I, uh, don’t really  _ need _ my office laptop. I think I’ll follow Clint’s advice and enjoy the holiday. No work for me at all over the next few days.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” he stated.

“Right then. Well, I guess I’ll see you next week,” she took two steps toward the door.

“Merry Christmas, Martha,” Steve said by way of farewell.

“You too,” she said with a stilted smile and walked out into the night.


	10. New Year's Eve

“Do you know how to tie one of these things?” Clint asked as he strode into the parlor of Tony’s New York mansion. He held the ends of his bow tie aloft and looked questioningly at Steve.

Steve looked away from the portrait of Howard and Maria that he’d been studying and said, “Not on someone else. Sorry.”

Clint swore. “Damn it. I had a clip-on but Tony ripped it off and threw one of his ties at me.” 

Natasha entered the room wearing a tight strapless black dress. “Here Clint, let me help. You boys look nice is your tuxedos.”

Clint scoffed and gestured toward Steve. “Yeah. He looks like James Bond, I look like waitstaff. How do you know how to tie one of these anyway?” he asked as Natasha took the ends of the tie between her fingers.

“Getting intimate enough with a man to tie his tie is just good spycraft. Not to mention, it’s a decent garrote if I need to strangle him.”

Clint quickly backed away. “Never mind, I’ll look it up on YouTube.”

“So,” Natasha looked to Steve, “U.N.I.T. leaves in a few weeks. How do you feel about that?”

“If that’s your way of asking about Martha and me, yes I am going to miss her but only as a friend.”

“You might be after more than friendship when you see her in this dress,” Clint commented slyly as he peered down the corridor. “Incoming.” 

He, Natasha, and Steve looked toward the door as Martha entered. Steve felt a hand close around his heart and lungs and breathing suddenly became difficult. Martha wore black heels and a wide strapped metallic gold dress that hugged tight to the curves of her body. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and on her ears were the diamond studs she favored. 

Her eyes lingered on Steve for several long seconds before she turned and asked, “Would you like some help with that, Clint?”

“Depends,” he said warily. “Are you going to try and kill me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. 

“Who’s killing Clint?” Bruce asked as he entered the room. 

“Nobody,” Natasha quipped. “He’s just paranoid.”

When the job was finished, Clint checked Martha’s work in the small mirror near the fireplace.

“Very nice. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I watched my grandad teach my little brother,” she explained.

“Well you are just full of surprises, Dr. Jones,” Clint marveled. “Isn’t she full of surprises, Rogers?”

Steve, who had not taken his eyes off of Martha, said, “Yeah, she is.”

As the rest of the U.N.I.T. team and a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents filed into the parlor, two servants entered from a side door, each carrying a tray of drinks. Steve watched as Martha took a champagne cocktail and began speaking with Bruce. He started to approach the two of them but as he neared Martha suddenly said, “Would you please excuse me Dr. Banner? I need to speak with Kate a moment” and walked away.

“O-okay,” Bruce stammered at her retreat. “Was it something I said?”

“No, I think it was me,” Steve said, confused and contemplating why Martha could be avoiding him.

“You? Why? What did you do?” Bruce asked.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know but I’m sure I’ll find out.”

 

* * *

After dinner, the assorted company enjoyed more drinks and pleasant conversations in the parlor until Tony ushered everyone out into the large patio on the back of the house. As everyone looked skyward for the promised fireworks, Steve saw Martha by herself seated on a stone bench, a black shawl draped over her shoulders to ward off the cold night air. 

He approached her cautiously. “So do I get to know what I did wrong?”

Martha startled at the sound of his voice and for a moment looked as if she might try to scurry away. “What makes you think you’ve done something wrong?”

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe the fact that every time I’ve been within a ten foot radius of you tonight you run away as fast as you can. Whatever I’ve done, I’d like to make it right.”

She sighed heavily and looked down into the glass of champagne in her hand. “It’s not what you’ve done. Christmas Eve, I overheard you and Clint.”

“Oh.”

“Sound carries in the Tower lobby,” Martha told him. “And since then I’ve noticed the whispering and nudging from the others. For an organization built on secrecy, they sure do love to gossip. I just thought that maybe if I kept my distance the rumor mill would quiet down and you’d get some peace from the would be matchmakers. Stupid, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah it is,” Steve replied but there was kindness in his voice. “I’ve learned that this bunch is going to think whatever they want and anything you have to say doesn’t matter in the slightest. Distancing yourself isn’t going to make them stop talking about us. And there’s no sense in squandering the little bit of time we have left.”

“You’re right,” Martha conceded. “You’re right. I’m sorry for being a total git. Friends?”

“Friends,” Steve grinned.

Martha’s smile brightened the darkness. She patted the empty spot on the bench and said, “Join me?”

He was about to sit down when Clint and Tony approached. 

“Cap, settle something for us,” Tony said. Noticing Martha he addressed her as well. “You can weigh in on this too, Doc. Thor’s hammer. He’s the only person who can lift it. I say it’s a biometric imprint, Barton thinks it’s smoke and mirrors circus trickery. Who do you think is right?”

Martha smiled as she watched the trio of them carry on the ridiculous conversation. From her seat, she stared up at Steve as he spoke animatedly and she felt the weight of her heart shift. It had shifted some time ago, she suddenly realized and she was just now being made aware of the change. 

_ I love him _ , Martha admitted to herself. It was different this time, different than falling for the Doctor or Tom. It felt solid. Her love for the Doctor had been a weightless ephemeral thing, born out of wonder and infatuation. With Tom, chemistry and attraction had been the strong force that pulled them together but it wasn’t substantial enough to weather the storms of their relationship. 

Looking at Steve, she felt the tendrils of affection sprout out of her heart and wind around her ribs, vining through her veins and blossoming in her bones. Her feelings for him took root and grew until, on that cold winter’s night, Martha realized she held a garden of love inside of her that had grown from the seeds they had been planting over the course of their time together.

Showers of gold and silver sparks suddenly exploded overhead and a chorus of oohs and ahs mingled with shouts of “Happy New Year!”

“Whoops, midnight. Hold that thought. My lips need to be on Pepper’s, like right this second,” Tony said and rushed to the other side of the patio. 

Clint turned and clinked his champagne glass with Steve first and then Martha. “Cap, Doctor Jones, happy New Year,” he said and meandered back to the rest of the crowd. 

Martha rose and stood in front of Steve. Even in her heels, she was still significantly shorter than him and had to lift onto her toes to press her lips to the side of his mouth. 

“Happy New Year, Steve,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Happy New Year, Martha,” he replied, his voice low and rumbling in her ear. 

They touched their glasses together and took a sip of the champagne then stood side by side watching the fireworks. When the display ended, Clint stood on one of the stone benches and commanded everyone’s attention.

“OK party people, starting now there will be a poker tournament happening in the billiard room! Who’s ready to play?”

Tony piped up over the din of the assembled guests and said, “Uh excuse me, the only poker allowed in my house is strip poker so you best be ready to show us your quiver, Legolas.” 

“I’m not scared of you,” Clint retorted over a smattering of laughter.

“There will be no strip poker!” Pepper declared. “That’s a Human Resources nightmare in the making. The billiard room is available for an assortment of games but clothes will remain on  _ at all times _ .”

“Except for yours. You’re coming with me,” Tony told her, a little too loudly. “Goodnight and happy New Year, boys and girls,” he said and pulled Pepper toward the house, laughter following them inside.

“All right! Who’s joining me?” Clint shouted as he jumped down from the bench. 

Steve chuckled. “Interested in a game of poker?”

“Not particularly,” Martha told him. “But I do fancy a game of darts, if it’s available.”

“Let’s go find out,” Steve said, putting a hand to her back and leading her indoors. 

They followed the crowd into the billiard room and Martha looked around at who had stayed to continue the party and who had elected to leave. With Clint at the poker table, she spied Natasha, Osgood, and doctors Sherwood and Blake. Colonel Rhodes, Maria Hill, Kate Stuart, and Bruce were gathered around the billiard table.

Martha peered about the room and, at the far end, saw a dartboard hanging on the wall. She and Steve crossed the room and as he gathered the darts, she draped her shawl over a nearby chair and kicked off her shoes so that she stood barefoot on the lush carpet.

“Uh-oh, the shoes are off,” Steve smirked. “It’s game time, huh?” 

“You bet it is, mister,” she grinned and took the darts from him. 

“Well in that case..” he trailed off as he removed his tuxedo jacket and undid his bow tie. She waited patiently as he undid his top button and then rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.

“Geez, you’re so fussy,” she teased. “Want to start with three-oh-one?”

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Steve drawled. “I’ve not really played much so I’ll follow whatever rules you lay out.”

“We each start out with three hundred and one points and the objective is to subtract the scores we rack up from three-oh-one until one of us reaches zero. Savvy?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Go ahead and take your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Martha grinned then positioned herself to throw her darts. She threw the three missiles in rapid succession then smiled again. 

“That’s one hundred and seventeen total for me, Rogers. My three-oh-one score just dropped precipitously. Think you can do better?” she prodded.

He scoffed. “This isn’t that hard,” Steve said and threw his darts. As the missiles landed, Martha doubled over laughing.

“And how many points is that?” she asked through her giggling.

“Twenty,” he admitted begrudgingly. The fire of his competitive streak was stoked and he suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to win but part of him was pleased just to see Martha having so much fun.

“You’re using too much shoulder, Cap!” Clint called from across the room. 

Both Steve and Martha turned to look in his direction. “Oi, that’s enough out of you, Clint Barton!” Martha shouted to him. “I’ll not have you aiding and abetting the enemy!”

“Oh I’m the enemy now?” Steve raised his eyebrows in an amused expression.

“All’s fair in love and war,” she said, “and darts is war.”

“Good god, it’s like you turn into General Patton when you get competitive,” he commented.

“‘May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won’t,’” she quoted.

“Wow. Wow! You’re just getting scary now.”

Martha gave a good natured laugh. “You should meet my sister, Tish. Remember me telling you I broke my arm when I was a kid? It’s because Tish knocked me over during a game of Twister. Bloodthirsty, she is.”

“Remind me to stay far away from your sister then,” he said.

They played several more games, all of which Martha won, before they were invited to join Rhodey and Maria at the pool table following the departures of first Bruce and then Kate. They played in teams for awhile, Steve and Martha against Rhodey and Maria, until Maria decided to call it a night. Natasha, having folded her hand in the poker game, wandered over to play against Steve while Martha and Rhodey took seats on the soft, overstuffed leather couch to have a chat.

“It looks like you two kissed and made up,” Natasha stated as she chalked her pool cue. “Things seemed a bit icy when the evening started.”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Steve said, not willing to clarify any further. 

Natasha leaned over the table and took her shot. “Listen, I know we’ve been jerks for teasing you about you and Martha but it’s only because we think there’s something there. We all see how good you are together, how good she is for you.”

“She has been good for me,” Steve quietly agreed.

“You’re good for her too,” Natasha said sincerely. “We just didn’t want you to miss out on something great.”

“We’ve had something great. I’ve not had a friend like her since...”

“But you could have more,” Natasha insisted. “Don’t you want that?”

Steve rested his pool cue on the floor, wrapped his hands around it tight. He took a steadying breath. “I do want more,” he admitted, “but I realized it too late. And now she’s leaving in a few weeks and I’ve missed my chance. She’ll go back to London, I’ll move to D.C., we’ll email or call on occasion, our paths may cross during missions once in awhile, but this relationship is effectively over. No sense digging in for more now that it’s reached the end. So for now I just want to enjoy what time I have left with her.”

Natasha was silent for a long moment before she said, “You could ask her to stay.”

“No,” Steve whispered. “No I couldn’t. Her entire life is there, her family and friends. I couldn’t ask her to give that up for me.”

“Always making the sacrifice play,” Natasha murmured sadly. 

They let the conversation end and continued their game. A few minutes later, Rhodey wandered over and bid them goodbye. After Steve and Natasha finished their game, Steve turned and looked about for Martha. He found her curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. 

Smiling indulgently, Steve laid a hand on her shoulder and gave her a nudge. “Martha? Martha?”

“She’s out cold,” Clint informed, shuffling the deck of cards for himself and the two other U.N.I.T. doctors. “Just leave her be. It’s not like Tony’s unaccustomed to having strange women sleeping over at his house.”

Wordlessly, Steve retrieved his tuxedo jacket and laid it over Martha like a blanket. When he turned, he saw Clint staring at him with raised eyebrows.

“Not a word,” Steve told the archer as he moved to join him at the poker table.

Clint held out his hands as if in surrender. “I said nothing.”

Martha awoke several hours later not sure what had awakened her. Then her nostrils twitched. Coffee. She slowly opened her eyes and tried to get a bearing on her surroundings. Stark’s billiard room. She had fallen asleep on the sofa. 

Martha sat up and pulled on the jacket that laid over her. It hung comically large on her petite frame as she stood and padded her way through the empty billiard room on bare feet. She traipsed through the quiet house and followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen. There she found Clint at the stove and Steve and Tony leaning against the island, each with a steaming mug in hand. Steve and Clint were still wearing their dress shirts and tuxedo pants with their untied bow ties dangling while Tony was dressed in red silk pajama bottoms and a black tank top, through which Martha could see the glow of the arc reactor in his chest.

Clint was the first to notice her enter the room. “Morning sleepyhead!” he called cheerfully.

She groaned, “Coffee.”

A smile split Steve’s face and he moved across the kitchen. He retrieved a mug from a nearby cupboard and poured her a serving of coffee from the half full pot. She watched as he spooned in a liberal amount of sugar and a generous helping of cream and then slid the mug to her across the island.

Martha took a slow sip. “Thanks. It’ll do.”

The three men chuckled then Tony said, “You know Doctor Jones, this is a mansion and it has a significant number of bedrooms. You didn’t need to crash on the couch in the billiard room if you wanted some shuteye.”

Martha took another drink of coffee then told him, “Old habits. Working late nights A&E, I got to where I could have a kip just about anywhere.”

Confusion flickered across Tony’s face. “Sometimes it’s like you’re not even speaking English. Did either of you understand that?” he asked Clint and Steve.

“Absolutely,” Steve replied. “Loud and clear,” said Clint.

Tony shook his head. “Is that omelette ready yet, Barton?”

“Almost. Stop trying to rush me.”

“If Pepper doesn’t like this breakfast in bed, I’m coming for you,” Tony threatened.

“Why aren’t you making breakfast for your own girlfriend?” Martha inquired.

Tony responded as if the answer were obvious. “Because it would take me like three hours to do it and I have better things to do. My time is very valuable, Martha.”

“There,” Clint set a plate with what looked like a spinach, mushroom, and tomato omelette onto the island.

“‘Bout time,” Tony muttered. He turned to the counter and placed the omelette on a tray where wheat toast, fresh fruit, and some kind of green colored juice waited. He lifted the tray and said, “Help yourselves to breakfast, enjoy my hospitality, then hit the road. Last night was fun, happy New Year, OK leaving now, bye!” then swanned out of the room.

“All right,” Clint said, “who wants eggs?”

As Clint went back to cooking, Steve questioned, “Where did you learn how to cook?”

“Oh, it’s just something you pick up when you have a large family.”

“But I thought you were an orphan?” Martha wondered, sipping on her second cup of coffee.

“ _ Circus _ family,” he quickly clarified. “Circus family gets really big.”

“What else did you pick up in the circus?”

“I could guess your weight,” Clint stated as he began juggling three brown eggs with a flourish.

“Don’t even think about it,” Martha glared. Off his laugh she asked, “Do you want any help? I’m a terrible cook but I’m an excellent slicer, dicer, and peeler.”

“Sure, have a go at those peppers for me,” Clint said, gesturing to the cutting board on the counter. 

Martha crossed the kitchen to stand beside him, pushed up the sleeves of the tuxedo jacket and began to dice a pair of red and yellow peppers.

“What about me?” Steve piped up. “Anything I can do?”

“Yeah, you’re on toast duty. Jones and I have got the hard stuff,” Clint told him.

With a chuckle, Steve opened up the bag of wheat bread, inserted two slices into the toaster, and pushed the lever. 

Clint proceeded to make breakfast for the three of them and as everything was being plated he said to Steve, “Hey Cap, why don’t you run down to the cellar and grab a bottle of champagne? Mimosas would go down great this morning.” 

“Sure thing,” Steve obliged and headed out of the room. 

Once he was gone, Clint spoke to Martha in a low voice, “Cap told me that you overheard what I said Christmas Eve. I wanted to apologize for that. It’s one thing to tease him about dating but it’s another to harass him about a specific third party. It was out of line and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Martha told him.

“I’m also sorry that what I said made you skittish around him and caused a detrimental effect on your friendship.”

“It’s OK, Clint. No lasting damage was done. Though I will say that I was beginning to think some of you had money riding on whether Steve and I get together.” The faint reddening of his cheeks told her she had hit the mark.

He cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, the reason we’ve been pestering him about it is because we think you’d be great together. We’ve all seen how good you are for one another so we can’t help but nudge. But I suppose even if there  _ was _ anything more than friendship between you that it’s not something you’d really chase after now, given that you’re leaving next month and Cap is on his way to D.C. Damn, that’s a shame. Anyway, wanna hand me those champagne flutes?”

Not knowing how to reply, Martha moved to retrieve three champagne flutes from the cupboard and passed them over to Clint. Just then, Steve returned with a bottle of bubbly.

“Perfect,” Clint declared as he popped the cork on the champagne then set about mixing the mimosas. Once the drinks were poured the three of them sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed a casual breakfast in their previous evening’s finery. After the meal, Steve and Martha rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher while Clint stepped out to make a phone call.

“So what kind of plans do you have today?” Steve asked, drying his hands. 

“I don’t know actually,” Martha answered. “I’ll probably call my Mum, do some laundry, see what I can find on cable. What about you?”

“Well,” Steve took a breath, “I was going to see if you’d like to go to the Museum of Natural History. You said you’ve wanted to go but hadn’t found the time and they just opened up a new space exhibit. So, uh, yeah. Would you be up for it or do you not feel like going?”

“Steve Rogers, you are a brilliant man,” Martha beamed at him. “I’ve had so many trips there fall through that I just sort of gave it up as a lost cause. Yes, absolutely. I’m game. Let’s do it.”

Steve smiled back at her. “Great. The museum opens at ten. Do you want to meet there once we’ve had a chance to change?” he gestured first at himself in his tuxedo and then at her in her metallic gold dress.

“Perfect.”

Steve, Martha, and Clint left Tony’s mansion and parted ways not long after Steve and Martha made their plans. Several hours later, after taking a short nap then grabbing a shower and a changing clothes, Steve ventured back out into the cold New York morning to meet Martha at the entrance of the Museum of Natural History. 

He found her bouncing at the cold, dressed now in jeans, boots, and her heavy coat and winter gear, but she was all smiles.

She excitedly hooked her arm through his, tugging him a bit off balance so that he wobbled into her. 

“I am so glad you suggested this,” she told him. “Now, I hope you know what you’re getting into. I am a major boffin, as I’m sure you know by now, so I will be looking at every fossil, reading every plaque, and spouting all sorts of scientific nonsense. This will not be a short excursion; this is a long haul, all day adventure. Do you have snacks? Are you hydrated enough?” 

Off his laughter, she said, “You can back out now. I won’t think the less of you for running away.”

Resolutely, Steve grabbed the handle and pulled open the door. He smiled down at her, “Not a chance, Martha. You’re stuck with me.”

Martha felt a lump in her throat.  _ “Not for much longer,” _ she thought and silently cursed herself for her feelings.

Then she grinned and pulled him even closer. “Wouldn’t want it any other way,” she told him and let him lead her inside.


	11. Valentine's Day II

Martha finished connecting her Bluetooth earpiece and said, “Still there?”

An American sounding voice replied, “I’m still here. So when are you going to tell me more about Captain America? Have you played doctor with him yet? Wait, before you give me the glorious details I need to know if you say the pledge of allegiance to his star spangled arse every day because I most certainly would.”

“Jack, I don’t need to  _ play _ doctor, I  _ am _ a doctor,” Martha rebutted as she continued to fold clothes and place them in her luggage. “And because I am a doctor, confidentiality prevents me from disclosing those details you’re after, never mind the miles of red tape and NDAs from both S.H.I.E.L.D. and U.N.I.T.. Sorry, you’ll have to get your jollies somewhere else.”

Jack’s pout was audible in his tone. “Spoilsport. I remember you being a lot more fun.”

Martha sighed. “I’m sorry Jack. I’m just in a bit of a mood.”

“Is it because it’s Valentine’s Day and you miss Tom?”

“No, not at all,” she objected. “It’s been over a year since I broke off the engagement. I’m well over Tom. No, the U.N.I.T.-S.H.I.E.L.D. partnership is finished so we’re going back to England today. And I’m just having a hard time saying goodbye to New York. I’ve missed my family and my flat and everything while I’ve been here but I’ve also found things that I love about this place and I’ve met so many wonderful people and I don’t want to leave any of it.”

“And have you taken a more than professional interest in anyone you’ve met?  _ Please _ tell me you’re shacking up with an Avenger.”

“That’s certainly none of your business, Jack Harkness.”

Jack let out a silvery laugh. “Oh ho ho, that means yes! Which one is it? Iron Man? Black Widow? If you tell me it’s the Hulk I’m going to be both majorly impressed and deeply concerned for your physical well-being because proportionally that seems like a bit of a challenge.”

“Oh my god Jack,” Martha whispered as she brought her hands to cover her face. She groaned and then dropped her hands. “It’s none of them. Pepper Potts is the only woman on the planet, this one or any other, who can handle Tony Stark and there’s sort of a thing between Black Widow and Dr. Banner. She’s a world class assassin and he turns into a big green rage monster so that’s the last two people I’d ever come between.”

“Who did I leave out? Thor doesn’t seem your type and the world knows he’s got a thing with Jane Foster. It can’t be Captain America. Surely you would’ve told your old pal Jack if you fell for another good looking Captain.”

“Another?” she said in a perplexed tone.

“Come on Martha, you know you find me irresistible,” Jack teased.

“For goodness sake, it was one kiss Jack and it happened years ago. Pheromones or no, I do  _ not _ find you irresistible. Now let this go.”

“Martha, I’m only kidding. Why are you being so tetchy?”

“Because!” she exclaimed in frustration. “Because nothing can come of it! Because I’m leaving for England and he’s staying here! Because he’s sodding perfect and I don’t deserve him! Because he’s Captain bloody America, off saving the world everyday, and I’m just plain Martha Jones, a doctor who works for U.N.I.T.!”

While Martha took a few deep breaths following her outburst, Jack remained silent for a long moment until he spoke in a firm but not unkind voice.

“You listen to me Martha Jones and you listen well. There is nothing  _ just _ about you. Superheroes aren’t the only ones who save the world, you know? I’ve done it myself a time or two but you… You didn’t have any Avengers to help you, no Iron Man or Hulk backing you up. You saved the world all on your own and never got any thanks for it. And if you’re talking about deserving, well, you deserve all the happiness in the world. And it’s not you who’s unworthy of him, it’s the other way around. Because if you ask me, no one is good enough for my nightingale.”

Martha let out a watery laugh and swiped at the tears welling in her eyes. “Why couldn’t you have given me this talk when I got engaged to Tom? You could have saved me years of heartache.”

“Because until he didn’t, Tom made you happy and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you,” Jack told her. He waited a moment before continuing, “Does Captain America make you happy?”

“Steve,” she said. “And yes. We’re just friends but it’s more than that, deeper somehow than the word ‘friend’ conveys. I told him about The Year, Jack. And I mean everything about The Year, not just that there was a year that technically never happened but I told him all about walking the world and the Master and what I went through. I showed him my scars, physical and metaphorical.”

“Whoa. That’s huge. Did you ever tell Tom about The Year?”

“No. It always felt like such a hard conversation to have. ‘Darling, you lived a year of your life in a post-apocalyptic world run by a maniacal alien. You were part of the Resistance and died attempting to save me from said maniacal alien. That’s how we  _ actually _ met and not when I was interviewing at your hospital and you asked me to have coffee with you. But don’t worry because time reversed itself and technically that year never happened so that’s why you don’t remember it.’ He would have had me committed, for sure.”

“When you put it like that, it does sound pretty outlandish,” Jack stated. “I mean, I lived it and remember it all but I don’t know that I’d believe you if you explained it to me.”

“Exactly.”

“So have you said anything to him?”

“No,” she sighed. “What’s the point? I’m leaving. That’s partly why I never brought it up, because any involvement was always going to eventually end in separation.”

“If logistics are the only thing holding you back, we both know that U.N.I.T. has bases in America. You could stay there.”

“U.N.I.T.’s American bases are in California, which would be great if I wanted to stay close to Tony Stark but not so much for Steve. But logistics aren’t the only reason I’ve hesitated to say anything to him.”

“And what are the other reasons?”

“It pretty much just comes down to one other reason, really,” she said and took a deep breath. On the exhale, Martha quietly admitted, “Peggy Carter. She was Steve’s first love, back during the war, and from everything I know about her she was amazing. I spent all of my time with the Doctor being compared to Rose Tyler, constantly failing to be as good as the memories she left behind. It wore me down Jack. It even broke me in a few places. 

“I can’t do that again, no matter how strong my feelings for Steve are. I can’t live my life fearing that I’ll never measure up to the woman who came before me. She is Steve’s biggest regret and I can’t spend my life wondering if he’d give me up if he were given the chance to be with her again. I mean, we know our share of time travelers. It’s not inconceivable that it could happen. I just… I just can’t be in that place again. I don’t think I’d survive it a second time.”

“Oh Martha,” Jack softly said her name. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” He let out a small growl, “Sometimes I’d like to kick his scrawny Time Lord ass across several galaxies. You can’t compare yourself to Peggy Carter and doom things before they even have a chance to begin. I don’t know much about her but I know she can’t come close to comparing with you. There’s only one Martha Jones and she’s the most brilliant person I know.”

Martha let out a little chuckle, “Keep this up Jack Harkness and I’m going to start calling you for these pep talks and affirmations every day.”

“And I would happily oblige. Someone has to make you realize how incredible you are.”

“Thank you, Jack. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Listen, I’ve got to finish packing but are you somewhere close to home? I’d really love to see you when I get back.”

“I’m in Spain but it won’t take me long to get back to London.” 

“Terrific. Why don’t you come around to mine for dinner and we’ll catch up?”

There was hesitancy in Jack’s voice when he said, “By dinner you mean takeaway, right? Because you are incredible and I love you but your cooking skills leave a lot to be desired.”

Martha laughed. “Yes, I promise it’ll be takeaway.”

They wrapped up their conversation by making plans for dinner the following week and Martha continued packing her suitcases.

She checked the time when she was done and saw that she was finished earlier than expected. Rather than sitting around the flat, she decided to go on over to the Tower. The U.N.I.T. team was meeting there to load their remaining equipment and then driving to the airfield together and Martha figured she would help the process by getting a head start.

When she arrived, it took her time to get to her lab as she made her way through a gauntlet of scientists and lab technicians who wished to have one last chat and to bid her goodbye. Martha had spent about an hour alone readying her equipment for transport when she heard a voice at the door.

“Do you need a hand with that?”

Martha glanced behind her and saw Steve standing in the doorway, dressed in a blue button down shirt and black trousers with a black leather belt, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“My, don’t you look spiffing today,” she commented and gestured at her own outfit of dark jeans and a teal tunic. “You’re making me feel underdressed in my own lab.”

He looked down at his clothes. “I just got back from D.C. I had a meeting with Fury and the World Security Council to discuss what my role within S.H.I.E.L.D. would be.”

“Exciting stuff,” Martha said, looking down at her clipboard. “You move down there tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. Fury’s people set me up with a furnished apartment so everything’s ready for me to move my stuff in, not that I have a lot. Are you all packed and ready to go?”

“Just as soon as I finish making sure everything here is in order,” she said, still gazing at the papers on her clipboard. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes yet. 

“I’m happy to help, if you need it,” he offered.

“No thanks, I’ve got it.”

“Do you think you’ll have time to go down to Jason’s for a cup of coffee?” 

“Mmm, probably not. There’s a lot to be done here to get our equipment loaded.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured. Disappointment was evident in his tone. “Are you upset that I missed the bon voyage party last night? I’m sorry but it couldn’t be helped.”

Martha sighed and finally looked up to meet his gaze. “No, I’m not upset about that. I’m just upset in general. It’s a lot harder to leave here than I thought it would be. When I first came here, I kept thinking about all of the things about home I couldn’t wait to get back to - darts in the pub, jogging in my own neighborhood, playing with my nephew, shopping with my sister, dinners with my mum. But now I can’t stop thinking about all of the things I’m going to miss about this place and chief among them is going with you to the diner.”

“I’m sorry, Martha,” Steve apologized sincerely. “I wasn’t trying to make this harder for you. I just… I just wanted to spend a little time with you before you left.” 

Martha thought it over. She’d hoped to make the goodbye process with Steve like ripping off a sticking plaster, something painful but done quickly. But now she found herself wanting to savor every remaining second in his presence. “Tell you what. Help me close up these crates and then we’ll go to the diner. Let me go clear it with Kate.”

Steve’s smile brightened the room. “Yes ma’am,” he said and moved to close and lock the hard black containers. 

Martha hurried down the corridor, burst into the stairwell, took the steps two at a time to the next floor up, and then raced straight into Kate Stuart’s mostly bare office.

“Kate, the U.N.I.T. equipment in my lab is all packed and ready to be loaded in the vans. If it’s alright with you, I’m going to pop out for a quick bite to eat,” Martha said to her superior.

“That quick bite wouldn’t be with Captain Rogers, would it?” Kate inquired with a sly smile. “Normally I would deny the request because we have a schedule to keep but, lucky for you, one of the transport vans won’t start so we’re after a replacement. Where are you going? Not far, I assume?”

“Just a few blocks away to the all night diner.”

“Ah yes, the diner. Of course you may go, but keep your mobile handy and be ready to go on a moment’s notice. The diner is on our way to the airfield so we’ll stop there and collect you. Osgood will inform you when we’re on our way.”

“Thank you, Kate. I appreciate this a lot,” Martha said and sprinted her way back down to her lab. Steve was just finishing the task she had set to him when she returned and she said, a bit breathlessly, “Come on, let’s go before someone finds more packing for me to do.”

Steve moved like a flash and in no time they had gathered their winter gear and were bundling up as they descended in the elevator. They were mostly silent as they walked to the diner, preferring to focus their energy on moving as quickly as possible instead of chatting. 

When they arrived, Martha was surprised to find the restaurant nearly full to bursting and she suddenly realized she had never been to the diner during normal operating hours. It was always very late in the evening or very early in the morning when she and Steve were there and they typically had the place almost to themselves. She continued to feel at odds when the only table they could find was nowhere near their regular seating.

It took time for a server to take their order - two coffees, two slices of cherry pie, and a plate of fries to share - but once they were left alone to wait they slowly began to open up and finally, to Martha, the outing felt at least somewhat normal. 

While Steve scribbled in his sketch pad, Martha sipped her coffee and listened to the din of the restaurant around her. 

The place felt so foreign now with the crowd of strangers crushing her from all sides. Liminal, she thought to herself. The diner had been a liminal space for them since they’d first started coming the year before, an intermediate place that existed only between the hours of sunset and sunrise and only for their excursions. Martha had only ever thought of it as a backdrop for their coffee and conversations, never as a real place of business that continued to operate when she and Steve were not there.

Their whole relationship had been liminal, she thought, something transitional and barely perceptible. It only existed in a handful of hours outside the normal operations of the world around them. Maybe that was the problem, Martha considered. They had existed so long in a transitory phase that neither of them knew how to shift themselves into something that functioned in the normal world.

“What are you going to do when you get back to London?” Steve asked, still doodling.

“The practical things, like unpacking and making sure all my appliances still work. And then I’ll be hitting the shops so that I can buy massive quantities of discount Valentine’s chocolate. I’ll be seeing a fair bit of my family too. Mum’s making me dinner tomorrow night, Leo and his wife are having me round for dinner this weekend, and I’m supposed to meet my dad and his girlfriend for drinks. Oh and Tish has offered to come help me unpack though I expect she’s angling after something.” 

“Sounds like they’ve missed you,” he commented.

“They have. And I’ve missed them too, it’s just that my family is, well,  _ a lot _ . I’m grateful I’ve got plans with Jack on Friday. After cannonballing back into life with my family I’m going to need a friendly face and many drinks, both of which Jack happily provides.”

“This is your friend from the future?” he asked and waited for her affirmative nod. “Well send him my regards, from one captain to another.”

Martha smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. “Jack just might go into a swoon when I tell him.” 

Their food arrived a few moments later and they both tucked into their cherry pies first, after which they argued over the placement of the ketchup blob on the plate of fries. Martha wanted it to touch the potatoes as little as possible and vocally listed her reasons while Steve laughed, though most of the reasons came down to the fact that “chips are to be eaten with salt and vinegar, not tomato ketchup! Have you learned nothing from our time together?!” 

They were still sparring and laughing when Martha’s phone buzzed with a text message from Osgood.

_ Two blocks away. Be ready outside. _

“Bollocks,” she growled and abruptly shoved away from the table. “They’re almost here,” she told him as she stood and began to loop her scarf around her throat. “Bollocks!” Martha exclaimed and suddenly began to clamber for her messenger bag. “Where the bleeding hell is my wallet? I can never find it in this damn bag.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Steve assured her. 

“But it’s my turn,” she objected, still rummaging.

“Hey, I dragged you over here because I wanted company and coffee. You were good enough to oblige so the least I can do is pay for your pie,” he told her. 

Steve watched her shrug on her coat and suddenly, uncontrollably, he shot out a hand and took hold of her wrist. 

“Please,” he said in a hushed tone. There was an aching edge to his voice, “please don’t leave quite yet.”

Martha’s face was full of soft pity and regret as she looked at him. There was hurt in her eyes. “I have to,” she told him, her words sticking in her windpipe.

His chest felt tight and painful, as if stones were being thrown at his heart. Reluctantly, he slid his hand from her wrist. He did not want to let her go. 

Martha finished buttoning her coat then crossed to his side of the table. She leaned over, put a hand on either side of his face, and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth. As the warmth of her hands slipped away, he heard her sniffle and her voice was full of tears when she said, “Goodbye, Steve.” 

She took two steps toward the door and he called out, “Martha, wait.” 

She halted her retreat and turned back to him. Another stone hit his heart to see the tears dripping from her lashes. Steve ripped a page from his sketch pad, folded it in half then he stood and closed the two paces between them. He found that the word “goodbye” would not form on his tongue. Instead, he told her, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and pressed the paper into her hand.

Martha gave a soundless nod then rushed out of the diner, making it to the curb just as a large black panel van arrived. She leapt into the passenger seat and the van hurried away. Steve watched the distance between them grow until the van disappeared in the noonday traffic and he could no longer see it. 

He returned to his seat and halfheartedly played with the remaining fries on the plate at the center of the table. The waitress appeared at the side of the table and refilled his coffee.

“Your girlfriend sure ran out of here in a hurry,” she stated. Steve looked up and recognized Ellie, the waitress who had regularly served him and Martha so late in the evenings. It was strange to see her there in the daytime.

“She, uh, had a flight to catch,” Steve explained, not bothering to correct her that Martha was not, in fact, his girlfriend. “I’ll go ahead and take the check now.”

When he’d been given the check, Steve went to the front and paid for the two coffees, two slices of cherry pie, and the plate of fries. 

* * *

Martha pushed open the door of her flat and was surprised to see the lights were on.

“Welcome home!” Tish exclaimed and rushed to embrace Martha. 

Still in the remnants of her travel fog, Martha went stiff for a moment before relaxing into her sister’s hug.

“What are you doing here? I thought I wouldn’t see you until tomorrow,” Martha said, closing and locking the door. 

“Well I figured you could do with some of the basics, tea, milk, et cetera, and then once I was here I thought I’d check to make sure everything is in order. Your stove is a bit blinky and the cable is out but everything else works fine. I put in a call to your super and he should be up in the morning. I also put fresh sheets on your bed and got you an Indian takeaway. It’s ready to warm through whenever you’re hungry.”

Martha stared at Tish for a long, hard moment. “You’re after something big, aren’t you? What is it you want? You’re not getting my Jimmy Choos, I’ll tell you that straightaway.”

Tish rolled her eyes. She said, “I just want to help out my baby sister” then wheeled Martha’s suitcases out of the entryway. 

Martha shook her head in disbelief then began to take off her coat and scarf. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the folded paper Steve had given her on her way out of the diner. She had not yet looked at it. She’d wanted to have something of him once she was back in London, wanted to savor it when she was so far away.

Slowly, taking a deep breath, Martha unfolded the paper. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she beheld a pencil drawing of herself in a floral frame of poppies. The quality of the sketch was excellent which she’d expected for one of Steve’s drawings but he’d never shown her anything he’d drawn of her. 

She’d seen his sketches of their various diner servers, of the Brooklyn Bridge, of ferries on the river, of the other Avengers, of the violets in the botanic garden, the same violet he’d tucked into her hair when a blossom had fallen from its broken stem. All of these things he had shown her in his sketchpad but never the drawings of herself. 

She teased him once that he was giving her a complex, that art reveals how we see and feel about the subject and that by denying her request to see his sketches of her he was refusing to let her know how he saw her. He’d countered that she should trust him and have faith that his drawings of her were not caricatures to make her look bad but rather revealed more about him the artist than her the muse.

Martha saw it now. She saw how Steve saw her. He’d made her more beautiful than she thought herself to be, had drawn her as someone luminous and radiant with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She saw it now. There was adoration in the outline, affection in the shading. It was an image made from love.

Martha’s legs buckled beneath her and she sat down hard on the sofa. Her face crumpled beneath the weight of tears and she muffled her sobs with trembling hands.

“Martha? Martha honey, what’s wrong?” Tish, her expression full of concern, came rushing back into the room. She plopped down next to Martha and was surprised when her sister scrambled into an embrace and desperately clung to her.

“What is it, Martha?” Tish asked in a soothing tone.

“I love him, Tish,” Martha’s tears threatened to strangle her. “I love him and I left him. Oh god, why did I do that?” 

“Shhh,” Tish murmured in Martha’s ear as she held her tight. “Shhh… everything’ll be alright.”

Martha cried herself empty and let herself be calmed by her sister’s presence.

* * *

Feeling out of sorts and not quite sure what to do with himself after leaving the diner, Steve went for a long ride on his motorcycle, letting his mind clear, until finally he turned back to the Tower and gathered the last few belongings he needed to take with him to D.C. 

Later that evening as he was preparing to settle in for bed, his laptop alerted him to a new email. Opening it, he felt twin pangs of joy and heartache at seeing Martha was the sender.

_ Steve, _

_ Firstly, I’m sorry I had to rush out of Jason’s like that. Not exactly how I imagined saying goodbye to you after all the time we shared together. Secondly, thank you very much for the drawing. I’m pleased that you finally allowed me to see one of the sketches you’ve done of me. It was a lovely parting gift and it means more to me than I can say. _

_ I made it to my flat in one piece. Tish, amazing big sister that she is, stocked my kitchen with the necessities (tea, coffee, milk, bread, biscuits, chocolate, sugar, and, of course, booze) and had Indian food waiting for me. No sign yet of what she’s angling for but I’ll suss it out soon enough. _

_ It’s a bit weird to be back here. Feels sort of strange to call this home again. There’s so much of New York that I miss already. I hope I can plan a visit to America soon. It seems I’ve left half of myself there. _

_ Gosh, I best sign off here before I get too maudlin. Be safe on your way to D.C. tomorrow, by which I mean WEAR YOUR HELMET!!! Once you get settled, I want to hear all about everything.  _

_ Love, _

_ Martha _

Steve read the message three more times before firing off a short reply. He’d warned her some time ago that his correspondence would likely leave something to be desired as he had no keyboard skills to speak of and still did most things by hand. After clicking send, he reread her message one more time before closing the laptop and climbing into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help thinking about how much he missed her already.


	12. Easter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier._

Martha was on her way back inside the restaurant when the phone rang again with another blocked number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Martha, it’s Steve.” He sounded tense.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” she demanded. She dropped her voice as a group of tipsy college aged girls stumbled past her. “I just got a phone call from Alexander Pierce, questioning my relationship with you.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him we were colleagues during my time here but that we hadn’t had much contact since the partnership ended, though he seemed to think there was something more.”

“You said here. Are you in New York?”

“Yes. Doctor Kusari and I are giving a lecture at a medical convention on the neurosignaling device that we worked on together. Steve, what’s happened?”

He spoke hurriedly. “Fury died but isn’t dead, I’m S.H.I.E.L.D.’s public enemy number one, S.H.I.E.L.D. is actually Hydra, and…and...” he trailed off. Martha heard him take a deep breath before he said in a raw voice, “Bucky’s alive.”

Martha gasped. “Alive? How?”

“Hydra. I don’t know what they did to him or how they’ve kept him alive but he’s their attack dog now.” He went quiet for a long moment. “He didn’t know me, Martha.”

She felt a dull pain in her chest on his behalf. “Steve, I’m so, so sorry. What can I do?”

He sighed. “Nothing, really. We’ve got a plan and we’re getting prepped. I just… I just needed to talk to someone outside of all this mess.”

“Please,” Martha said in a quiet, plaintive voice, “please be careful.”

He said nothing. She knew why. It wasn’t a promise he could make. Eventually he said, in a tone of forced joviality, “Hey when this all over, maybe I’ll take the train up to see you. We’ll go for coffee and pie at Jason’s and you can tell me all about your lecture.”

A strangled chuckle bubbled up out of her throat. “It’s a date.” 

He gave a chuckle too and repeated, “It’s a date.”

“Steve...” Martha couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words she really wanted to say. Instead, she told him, “Be safe. Save the world. Send me a postcard.”

There was hesitation on both their parts, neither of them quite ready to end the call, but eventually Martha could hear nothing. She swiped at the tears forming in her eyes, stuffed her phone in her back pocket, and took a moment to compose herself before plastering a smile on her face and reentering the restaurant to join Sayana for another bottle of wine.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, Steve was surprised to find Martha standing at the foot of his hospital bed, clipboard in hand, reading over his chart.

“So Doc, will I live?” he asked with a weak smile. 

Martha looked up and grinned back at him. Her heart gave a flutter of relief to see him awake. On the train ride down, she’d watched the news coverage on her tablet and known he had been in the middle of the fray. To say she’d been terrified had been an understatement. Getting the news from Natasha that he was alive had only briefly quelled her fears once she’d been informed he was in critical condition.

“Only if you don’t keep getting shot and throwing yourself off of exploding helicarriers,” she told him. After returning his chart, she moved to the seat beside his bed. 

“What are the grapes for?” he asked, eyeing the bunch sitting on his tray.

“I’m English,” Martha said as if it explained everything. “It’s just what we do.” She studied his bruised and swollen face. “I’m amazed you survived.”

“Bucky,” he said the name quietly, reverently. “Bucky pulled me out of the water, I know he did. He started to remember me, Martha.”

She sat in silence as he recounted the events of the last several days, listened as he told her how he felt seeing Bucky alive again, how the excitement had twisted into pain at his best friend’s memory loss. He could deal with Bucky trying to kill him, but not the forgetting. After a long while spent examining the dark and broken pieces of his past, Steve suddenly changed the subject.

“What brought you down here?” he asked in a forced, lighter tone. “I thought we had a date to meet at Jason’s?”

Martha explained, “We did but I’ve been called back rather abruptly. After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. some people are very curious to see how U.N.I.T. may have been affected during the partnership. There are some who believe Hydra’s tendrils of evil may have infected our organization as well. So, there’s going to be an inquest and I have to testify.”

“When do you leave? I can’t speak to the quality of the coffee but this hospital makes a terrific Salisbury steak.”

She chuckled. “I go back this afternoon, which means I narrowly get to miss going to Easter services with Mum. I’d much rather stay here with you though.”

“I don’t know that I’d be very great company,” he told her. “I’m still in and out most of the time.”

“Oh I don’t need you to keep me entertained. Watching the nurses change your bandages is scintillating stuff.”

He laughed heartily and then winced, laying a hand over his stomach.

In a wary voice, Martha said, “Maybe I should go ahead and go now and let you rest.”

“No!” Steve objected. “Please don’t leave quite yet. Stay as long as you can. Who knows how long it’ll be before another earth shattering disaster brings us together again?” He watched her expression soften slightly and he continued, “Just talk to me awhile. Tell me what Tish has done to annoy you lately or how your mom keeps force feeding you kale. Tell me anything.”

Martha bit her bottom lip in consternation. Tell him anything, he said. But how could she put voice to the wordless emotions that stirred in her heart? How could she tell him what she’d known since New Year’s Eve, that she had fallen in love with him over their late night cups of coffee? Three words were not enough to span the miles that lay between England and America. They looked longingly at one another for several moments while Martha struggled for what to say but a voice at the door disturbed the charged silence in the room.

“I thought you might be getting tired of lime Jello so I found some cherry for you.”

The man froze, a cup of red gelatin in each hand, and looked from Martha to Steve then back to Martha.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” he asked in a perplexed tone.

“No, not at all,” Martha assured a little too quickly. 

“Martha, this is Sam Wilson. I couldn’t have gotten through this whole thing without him. Sam, this is Martha Jones. She stopped by to make sure they were taking good care of me here,” Steve provided the introductions.

Sam put the Jello on the tray next to Martha’s grapes then extended his hand. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he said warmly. “Though what he failed to mention is that I’m his new sidekick.”

With a smile, Martha rose from her seat and shook the hand Sam offered. “He needs a good sidekick,” Martha commented. “ _ Somebody’s _ gotta keep him out of trouble.”

“If you’re gonna talk about me like that, I’m just gonna get up and leave,” Steve said drily.

Martha snorted, “Fat chance of that, mister. Those injuries, you wouldn’t make it past the threshold. So you just stay in that bed before I have a talk with the head nurse and have you restrained.”

“Ooh, I like her,” Sam said with a pinch of sass. He pulled up another chair, “Now Martha, tell me all I need to know about this man. He’s  _ got _ to have some flaws, right?”

Martha grinned. “A few, but not many.”

The three of them talked for a couple of hours and it took only half that time for Martha and Sam to become fast friends. As the orderly brought Steve’s lunch order round, Martha announced it was time for her to leave.

“I wish you didn’t have to go so soon,” Steve said as she stood over the head of his bed. 

She gently rested her hand on his wrist, looked down at the pale blue blanket that covered him, and said in a low voice, “Me too. I’d stay longer if I could. Maybe once the inquest is finished, I can come back for a visit. Or you could come to London. I’ll show you all the best places.”

A curtain of silence fell over them again as they simply looked at each other for several long seconds, as if trying to memorize how the other looked and felt. Finally, Martha leaned over the bedrail, whispered, “Goodbye Steve,” and pressed her lips just to the side of his mouth.

Steve closed his eyes at the touch of her lips. She’d kissed him there before, that exact same spot, on Independence Day and again just two months earlier. Somehow she had created a fixed point that he could feel whenever he closed his eyes, could feel it stretch down through his entire body until he felt it in his toes. It made his head dizzy, made his heart beat faster, intoxicated his senses. One single point, one delicate fleeting contact that anchored the memory of her to him.

He wanted to turn his head, to press his mouth to hers, to steal the first of so many kisses that they should already have had. But cowardice had seeped into the marrow of his bones and made him too afraid to desire more than he already had with Martha. 

“Goodbye, Martha. Thanks for looking after me,” Steve said in a quiet, strangled voice.

Martha stood erect and turned to face Sam though her fingertips lingered in Steve’s forearm. Fighting to hold back tears, she said to Sam, “Take care of him for me, yeah? Make sure he stays in one piece?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sam solemnly vowed. 

With a nod to Sam and one final look at Steve, Martha hurried out into the hallway, the clack of her heeled boots growing fainter with every step.

The silence in the room turned awkward as Sam tried to mind his own business. But after a couple minutes, he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Just friends, huh?”

“Yep,” Steve replied, staring up at the ceiling.

“Because I’ve never had friends who acted like that. It was a G rated kiss but, whoo, there sure were sparks coming off it. Sure there’s nothing more there?”

“Nope. Nothing more.”

“Well then you won’t mind if I run after her right now and sweep her off her feet?”

“Nope,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Man, you’re a terrible liar,” Sam told him. “There’s clearly something there but it looks like you’re both either too stupid or too stubborn to do anything about it. If you don’t go to London immediately after they discharge you from this place, I’m flying your ass there myself, with my own two wings.”

Sam wandered out a few minutes later, leaving Steve alone in the company of his own thoughts. Maybe Sam had a point. As soon as things settled down, he’d take Martha up on her offer to show him the best places in London.


	13. Whit Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of _Avengers: Age of Ultron._

With a loud grunt, Steve hefted a large piece of broken asphalt to his shoulder and then threw it onto a pile of rubble. He looked out toward the horizon and his eyes scanned the utter destruction that lay before him. It was their fault. Them. The team. The Avengers. This large scale of death and devastation was their doing. He heard rocks clatter behind him and he slowly turned to see who approached.

“Thought you could do with some water,” Martha said, holding out a canteen to him. She was dressed all in black tactical gear and he realized he’d never seen her in the field. It suited her somehow, seemed fitting for the soldier he knew her to be.

Steve could have wept for joy at the sight of her but he felt too empty and hollow for emotions. In a tone more abrupt than he’d intended, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“U.N.I.T. got here first thing this morning. This was sort of an all hands on deck situation,” she told him. “I’ve been coordinating with the Red Cross and other disaster relief organizations. The rescue and cadaver dogs have been combing the rubble and I’ve been treating the survivors. I’ve seen the rest of the team, except for Bruce. Clint told me you were out here clearing debris and looking for survivors. I’m told you’ve sent quite a few people my way today. They’re lucky you were here.”

Steve scoffed derisively. “Don’t you mean ‘unlucky?’ If it weren’t for us they wouldn’t be trapped under rubble in the first place.”

“Steve…” Martha quietly said his name in a voice dripping with compassion. 

“What?” he snapped. “Are you going to tell me this isn’t my fault? That we aren’t to blame for the deaths of all these innocent people? Sokovia would still be here if it weren’t for the Avengers. Tell me, exactly what do you have to say that’s going to make any of this better?”

Martha’s eyes went steely and her face hardened. “Of course it’s your fault. You were so hellbent on joining the Army back in the forties that you got yourself accepted to Project Rebirth,” she practically spat the words at him, her fist balling in anger at her side. 

“You became America’s first real life superhero and you were _such_ an inspiration to Howard Stark that he cared more about his obsession with the myth of Captain America Steve Rogers than he cared about being a father to his only son. His son, whose misguided attempt to be a hero and bring the world peace, gave birth to Ultron. You are absolutely the reason we’re wading up to our knees in blood and bodies and ruin today.”

She took a steadying breath. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Steve?”

He stared at her for a long moment before finally saying, “Wow… that was like a surgical strike. You went right for the jugular.”

Martha’s posture relaxed slightly. “I figured it was the easiest way to get through that hard head of yours, to make you see how silly it is to put all the blame on your shoulders.”

Steve heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at her with sorrow in his eyes. “Today was supposed to be a celebration day. Whit Monday, a day of marches and dancing and prayer rallies to commemorate the birth of the Christian church and the day the Holy Spirit descended to the disciples. Now, thanks to us, the Sokovians don’t even have a church to pray in or streets to march down.”

Martha took a few steps forward and closed the distance between them. “You’ve been out here all alone, so busy wallowing in your guilt and anger and grief that you haven’t seen. They’ve made a church out of one of the relief tents. People have been praying all throughout the day and many of those prayers have been in thanks to your team for saving their lives.”

He swallowed hard. “Really?”

She nodded. “None of you are the monsters you seem to believe yourselves to be.”

Steve reached out and took the canteen. After a long drink he asked, “Did you come out here just to snap me out of my foul mood?”

“You were full on angsting, love. Someone had to snap you out of it.”

They both stiffened in surprise at her use of the word “love.” 

“Actually,” Martha continued, “there are some things I’d like to chat with you about sometime. It just never seems to be the right moment. And this is certainly not the time or place.”

“No, definitely not,” he agreed. “But I’d like to talk to you about something too. It seems like we just keep missing our moment.”

“How about tonight? The mess tent has some truly terrible instant coffee. I’d be glad to share a cup with you,” she suggested.

He flashed her a small smile. “It’s a date.”

“Come on,” she took his hand. “Rumor has it that you’ve avoided the infirmary. Let me give you a once over to make sure nothing’s too badly damaged.”

“As you wish.”

“Hey, you get that reference now,” Martha grinned up at him and pulled him along toward the tent city that had sprung up overnight.

Later that evening, Steve waited for Martha outside the mess tent. Nearly ninety minutes went by before he wound his way through the rabbit warren of tents and found the infirmary. Inside he was surprised to find Clint juggling for a group of injured children.

“Hey, have you seen Martha?” he asked.

Without breaking his concentration, Clint continued to juggle and said, “I know she was looking for you earlier but I haven’t seen her in awhile. Osgood might know where she is.”

“Thanks,” Steve ventured off in search of the scientist and assistant to Kate Stuart. 

“Kate sent Martha over to Zákovská, a couple of towns over,” Osgood explained. “They needed help organizing and identifying the remains and Martha had experience from Thames House in the wake of the 456. She did try to find you but Kate was pretty insistent on her leaving straightaway.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Several days at least, maybe longer depending on how many more bodies the cadaver dogs pull from the rubble.”

Steve’s expression soured. Calling her was out of the question as all phone lines in the area were either flooded or destroyed and he didn’t relish the idea of pouring his heart out over walkie-talkie. He thanked Osgood for her help and left the infirmary. 

Eventually he wandered back to the mess tent and helped himself to a cup of instant coffee. Martha had been right. It was terrible but he continued to drink the bitter, gritty liquid as he sat alone and lamented yet another missed moment.


	14. Christmas II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the events of _Captain America: Civil War._

“Steve!” Martha gasped. Before he could say anything, she grabbed him by the wrist, yanked him inside her flat, and quickly shut the door. “What the hell are you doing in London? Don’t you know that it’s one of the most heavily surveilled cities on Earth? You’re at the top of every most wanted list in the world and you’ve probably been spotted on CCTV a couple hundred times already.”   
  
Steve didn’t have a good answer. He’d needed an ally, needed a friend. More specifically he’d found himself needing her, needing her calm, reassuring presence.   
  
“I needed somewhere to lay low for a few days...” he began.

She interrupted, “And you thought my tiny flat would be the place for that? Sorry I’m being rude. This is quite a surprise, you showing up on my doorstep.”   
  
“I’m sorry for the imposition,” Steve apologized. “I just thought...” he trailed off lamely.    
  
Softening, Martha took one of his hands. “Lucky for you,” she said, “I have the perfect place. I inherited my grandparents’ cottage in Brighton and I was planning to spend the holiday there. You’ll come with me and hide out for a few days.”   
  
“Won’t your family-“ he started to ask but Martha interrupted him again.

“My mum and sister are in Spain, my dad’s with his girlfriend and my brother will be at his in-laws’. I’m on my own this year and wanted to get out of the city for a few days. I’d planned to take the train tomorrow but now it’s probably best if I drive us there now. Is there anything you need to do in the city?”   
  
“No, nothing,” he replied, a little dumbstruck by her take charge attitude. It was nothing like he’d expected their reunion to be, though what he’d expected Steve couldn’t say.    
  
“All right,” she flashed a smile as she squeezed his hand. “Come in and have a seat. I’ll make us some tea and finish packing then we’ll be out of here.”

Steve sat silently on the pale blue sofa, sipping the mug of tea she’d foisted upon him, while Martha busied herself getting ready to leave. She had the radio on as she worked and distractedly sang along to the Christmas music that the DJs enthusiastically announced. 

“Right,” she said, emerging from her bedroom with a large duffel and several tote bags. “Let’s go.”

With the evening holiday traffic, the normal ninety minute drive took nearly two hours. Martha spent most of that time peppering Steve with questions. Where were Sam and Clint and the others? What had happened with Bucky? How had he managed to avoid being arrested in the months following the Avengers fallout? Had he talked to Tony? Was there any hope of a reconciliation?

Steve told her what he could but kept his answers vague. “Plausible deniability,” he said. “If someone comes to you looking for me, I don’t want you to have details to give them. You’ll be safer that way.”

She cut him a sidelong glance. “I am capable of taking care of myself, you know?”

“I have no doubt about that. It’s for my own peace of mind. In the middle of all that’s going on, I just can’t handle worrying that something could happen to you too.”

They fell silent for the remainder of the drive and arrived at the cottage early in the evening, just as darkness began to fall.

“I apologize for the state of the place,” she said as she unlocked the front door. “I’ve been too busy to come here lately so it’s just been sitting unused.”

She dropped her bags then flipped on the lights and Steve took in the layout. The front door opened up into a small hardwood floored living room with sheets covering what appeared to be a sofa, a chair, and two small tables. At the far end of the room, a polished wooden staircase led up to the second floor. 

Martha turned to her left and headed into the kitchen. She breezed past the heavy wooden table in the center of the room and moved straight to the stove. Steve watched as she turned each of the burners on then off then moved to the sink to do the same thing with the taps. She opened the fridge and the freezer to check their coldness then briefly turned on the washer.

“The appliances still seem to work,” she announced. “Perfect. You stay here, get the heat going - thermostat’s at the back of the stairs - and I’m gonna run down the shops so we have food to eat for the next couple of days.” She headed back toward the door, “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home. Feel free to snoop!”

While Martha was at the store buying food, Steve busied himself removing sheets from the furniture, running a rag over the heaviest layers of dust, and, after numerous failed attempts at getting the heat to work, building a fire. He’d been thankful to find a stack of cordwood beneath a tarp at the back of the house. There looked to be plenty of large logs I in need of chopping and he decided he would set himself that task first thing in the morning.

Martha returned carrying three canvas shopping bags and announced, “I suppose it’s time for me to admit that I’m not the best cook in the world. Soup and pasta is about the limit of my culinary abilities.” She began unloading the groceries onto the kitchen counter. “Tonight is spag bol. I’ll figure out what to make with the rest of this stuff later.”

“Spaghetti is fine with me,” Steve said. “Bad news though. The heater’s gone out. I tried to fix it but I think I made it worse. So I cleared out the fireplace and built a fire. If you’ll tell me where to find an ax, I’ll chop more wood in the morning.”

“No worries,” she shrugged. “A roaring fire will be just fine. Besides, there are  _ plenty _ of blankets. My gran was a competitive knitter and quilter. She used to enter things in county fairs and fundraising auctions so this place is fair teeming with afghans and quilts.”

While Martha set about boiling pasta and simmering sauce, Steve asked, “How long has it been since you were here?”   
  
“About six months,” she said. “I came here after granddad died to look for some of his papers. But other than a couple of odd weekends here and there none of my family hasn’t really stayed here much. We stopped coming after granddad went into hospice.”   
  
“Were you the two of you close?” he carried milk, eggs, and butter to the fridge.   
  
“Yeah,” Martha smiled wistfully. “His father was a proper old school country doctor so, when he saw my interest in medicine, he encouraged me to go to med school. He’d planned to go himself but ended up joining the war, marrying my grandmother during a short leave, and then had to jump into the role of husband, father and provider once the war was over so he missed his chance for medical school.”   
  
They moved in an easy circle around each other as Martha drained the pasta and Steve searched the drawers for a knife. Without thinking, Martha reached out and opened the utensil drawer. Steve plucked out a serrated blade and began to slice the loaf of rustic bread Martha had placed on the counter.    
  
“As I said, I haven’t been to the cottage much but I can’t bring myself to change the things that were my grandfather’s quite yet. This place is still very much his, in my mind. There’s still loads of his stuff around here. I might have a go through it tomorrow and see what I can find. And voila, dinner is ready.”   
  
Martha filled two bowls with the spaghetti while Steve found a plate for the bread and retrieved flatware. As he sat down at the table, Martha cracked open a bottle of Guinness and split the drink between two glasses. 

“Stout’s not ideal for spaghetti,” she said, “but there was apparently a run on wine down at the shops. Not a decent bottle of red to be found anywhere.” She sat down opposite him and reached for a slice of bread. “Go on,” she told him. “Tuck in. No need to stand on ceremony here.”   
  
Steve did as he was told and began to eat voraciously. Once dinner was finished, Steve washed the dishes while Martha rinsed.    
  
When the dishes were put away, Martha took Steve’s hand and said, “Come on. All of the entertainment around here is in Grandad’s office.” 

Letting her guide him, Steve followed Martha up the narrow staircase to the second floor. They removed sheets and fanned away the dust that flew into the air. 

With the sheets put away, Steve surveyed the room and let his eyes wander over the titles on the wide floor to ceiling bookcase. A fair number of them seemed to be medical texts and science books but there were also tomes of classic fiction and poetry. One entire shelf was devoted to Shakespeare, Steve noted. As he thumbed through a well worn copy of the Bard’s sonnets, Martha switched on the computer on the desk.   
  
“I thought you said there was no internet in this place,” Steve commented, his eyes still on Sonnet 130.   
  
“There isn’t,” she replied.    
  
“Then what are you doing?”    
  
“Computers aren’t just the Internet you know,” Martha told him. “When he knew he was going into hospice, Grandad asked my brother, sister, and I to help him digitize his record collection so he could take it with him. So, there may not be internet but we have plenty of books and music.”    
  
While the computer booted up, Martha crossed the room and pulled opened the closet double doors. “See?”   
  
Steve turned to her and, in surprise, snapped the book of sonnets closed. “That’s a lot of records,” he said, his eyes wandering over the stacked plastic crates that filled the closet. “How many are there?”   
  
“Four hundred and eight, mostly ranging between 1936 and 1978. Tish kept count as we digitized them. Grandad was a bit obsessed with vinyl but he gave up on ‘new music’ in the 80s.” She turned back to the computer, opened a music player and clicked shuffle. Billie Holiday’s “I’ll Be Seeing You” erupted from the speakers and Martha held out her hand.   
  
“You said we should dance again sometime,” she took a waltzing step toward him. “It’s just the two of us. There’s no one here for you to be worried about looking foolish in front of. Come on, this song is perfect for slow dancing to.”

Steve looked at her for a long moment before laying the book aside and taking her fingers in his. He laid her left palm on his right shoulder then slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close, much closer than he’d held her in their previous dance. Once her right hand was in his left, Steve began to turn in a slow circle to the music. 

As he looked into Martha’s dark brown eyes, he could almost feel the era of his former life reverberating through the speakers, could feel the atoms of the music sinking into his skin and absorbing into his bloodstream. He felt a settling in his chest as if something had clicked into place.

“You’ve gotten more confident,” Martha grinned. “Pretty soon you’ll be dancing like Fred Astaire.”

“Ginger Rogers did all the hard work,” he said. “She made Fred look good.”

“Then I guess you just need to find your Ginger,” Martha quipped. 

Still looking deep into Martha’s eyes, Steve softly replied, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

When they finished their dance, Martha and Steve retreated to separate overstuffed leather chairs, each with a book to read. While the music continued to play, Martha, with a mint green afghan on her lap, read a second hand John le Carre novel and Steve read sections of _The Odyssey_. Every so often, Steve would hear a tune he liked and would ask Martha for the details of it but they mostly sat in companionable silence. After a couple of hours in this manner, Martha gave a loud yawning stretch. 

Steve looked up from epic poem. “Tired?”

Still stretching, she nodded. “Mmm-hmm. It’s been a rather long day.” When she finished her stretch, Martha lowered her arms and looked at Steve for a long moment. “You remind me of him.” 

“Who?” Steve asked, confusion in his tone.

“Odysseus,” she told him. “He spent years in a war he didn’t want to fight and then another decade as an exiled nomad searching for his home and where he belonged. He was shipwrecked, left for dead, tormented by the gods, trouble beset everything he did. Everyone he loved became a stranger. But he persevered until he was able to sail back to Ithaca and find what mattered to him most.”

“His true love,” Steve said, turning over her words in his mind. “Penelope. His love for her is what carried him back home.”

“Sometimes it seems like you’re in storm tossed seas, tied to the mast while sirens shout promises but are ready to break you on the rocks. You have so much honor and integrity and you have a moral compass that keeps you true to where you’re sailing but some days I worry that the wax won’t be enough and the sirens will break you.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond. Looking down at the paperback in her hands, Martha ruffled through the yellowed pages while her words hung in the air. After a long, quiet moment Steve said, “I guess I’ll just have to hold on tight to the thing that keeps me sailing toward home.”

Another beat of silence followed. Martha rose from the chair and left the book in her place. “I’m going to go make a cup of tea,” she said, wrapping the afghan around her shoulders, and wandered back downstairs.

Steve eventually followed her to the kitchen and joined her for tea. As the night wore on and Martha’s yawns became more pronounced, Steve asked, “So what are the sleeping arrangements?”   
  
“Umm,” Martha sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “Under normal circumstances we’d each have a bed but since the heat isn’t working and we’d likely freeze in the upstairs bedrooms it’s probably best if we sleep here in the living room.”   
  
Steve nodded. “Right. Blankets?”   
  
“They’re in the cupboard at the top of the stairs. I apologize for the mustiness. Didn’t exactly have time to air anything out.”   
  
The corner of Steve’s mouth curled upward. “I think I’ll be able to handle it,” he told her and marched his way upstairs. As he went, Martha called up after him, “Grab pillows out of the bedrooms when you come back down.”   
  
Steve first went into the bedrooms and retrieved two pillows from each bed. “Incoming!” he yelled and hurled the pillows, one by one, down to the foot of the stairs. Martha’s golden laugh floated up to him and Steve felt his heart warmed by the sound as he liberated the closet of every available blanket.    
  
He stomped back down the stairs, arms loaded with quilts and crocheted afghans, and found Martha struggling to pull out the sofa bed. Without hesitating, Steve dropped the blankets to the floor and moved to help her.   
  
“Here, let me,” he said and gave the frame two quick tugs before it began to unfold.   
  
“Right or left?” Martha asked as she spread two blankets over the top of the mattress.

“What?”

“Do you sleep on the right or left side?” 

Steve felt himself freeze momentarily. “Uhh,” he drawled, “I’ll sleep down here on the floor. You take the bed.” He watched Martha cock her head with a quiet incredulous huff and put her hands on her hips. He continued, “In my day…” but faltered for words.

Martha’s expression changed to one of consideration. “You might have the right idea. I just suddenly flashed back to all the times I slept on this thing as a kid, sandwiched between Tish and Leo, and I don’t remember it being that comfortable. Your latent chivalry may have earned you a better night’s rest.”

They settled into their respective beds, Martha on the pull out and Steve on a pile of blankets on the floor lying parallel to the sofa. Save for the crackle of the fire and the occasional squeak of the pull out frame, silence stretched over the room. After a few minutes, the air was punctuated by a groan from the pull out frame as Martha wriggled on the mattress and pulled herself into a sitting position. She crossed her arms and laid them on the arm of the sofa then put her chin on the crook of her elbow. She looked down at Steve as he lay staring at the ceiling. 

“Grandad used to say that young men dream and old men ponder. You’re an old young man. Which do you do, dream or ponder?”

“I ruminate,” Steve replied. “Somewhere in between the two.”

“Where do you plan to go after you leave here?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you,” he said somberly. “In case someone comes here looking for me I don’t want you to have to lie.”

“Did you actually need to come to London?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then why did you?”

“Because I wanted to see a familiar, friendly face. Especially one who hasn’t taken a side in the split,” he told her, half-truthfully.

They looked at each other for a long moment until Martha quietly said, “Here’s something to ruminate. Tell me something real about you.”

Steve thought for awhile under her gaze. He realized she was giving him a chance to say what he’d kept silent for so long.

“I like you, Martha,” he told her. “A lot more than you might believe, actually.” Like wasn’t the word he wanted to use but he didn’t want to rush in with the other one too soon.

A smile tugged at a corner of her mouth before she asked, “I like you too, Steve. But can you give me some clarification? Like how exactly?”

Steve took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “If this were the forties, I’d ask you to the movies and then walk you home afterwards. I want more Martha, more for us. I want there to  _ be _ an us.” His cheeks flushed as he said it. He felt his heart quiver as Martha’s little smile pulled into a wide grin.

“I was hoping that’s what you’d say,” she told him. 

Steve sighed in relief as the knots in his stomach began to loosen. 

She continued, “Because I’ve felt that way for awhile now. I just didn’t quite know how to approach you. I mean, the time era differences aside you’re still Captain bloody America and that’s intimidating. Even without all that, I didn’t want to scare you away by coming on too strong.”

“How do you mean?”

“When my engagement to Tom fell apart, I needed to get away but I didn’t want to be alone so I came here and spent a week with Grandad. I was so upset, I told him that love wrecks everything and none of us survive it. He told me something that stuck with me. ‘Love is an ocean,’ he said, ‘it’s massive and there’s enough for everyone. But people treat it like a tightrope balancing act, like one wrong move will send everything crashing down. Some people they like the leap and they walk that tightrope without worrying about what’s underneath to catch ‘em. Other people need the net in place before they’ll ever take a step.’” 

She took a breath. “We’ve been walking the tightrope toward each other for awhile now but the difference between us is that I like the leap but it seems like you need the net.”

“That’s a lot to ruminate,” Steve mused. Martha chuckled at his response. 

“Your grandfather was a smart man. What kind of man was Tom? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” Martha said. “I told you when we first met that I’d happily provide you with all my sordid details. Tom liked the leap too. Neither of us thought about what was down below. We fell too hard, too soon, and in the end it left us broken.”

“Maybe that’s the secret,” Steve commented. “Maybe the two balance each other out.”

“It’s a plausible theory,” she smiled.

“Our timing is terrible though,” Steve pointed out, “bringing all this up now when we can’t exactly do anything about it.”

“It’s all right,” Martha said. “I’ve fallen for my fair share of men who were unavailable in one way or another. Tom, the Doctor, Prince William, Matthew Cooper in year twelve. I’ve had lots of practice.”

“I’d like to see if there’s something here,” Steve told her, “something between us. But with this situation I’m in, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I’m in a place where we could… I don’t want you to wait for me, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Steve, it’s not exactly like I have blokes knocking down my door. Having a personal life while working at U.N.I.T. is nearly impossible,” she explained. “Besides, in your day, didn’t women wait years for their men to come home from the war? If they can manage, so can I.”

“Are you offering to be my Penelope?” he asked with a wry smile. 

Martha leaned further over the arm of the sofa an extended her hand to Steve. He reached up and took her hand in his. “I’ll be your Penelope,” she said softly, “as long as you promise to return a lot sooner than Odysseus.”

Steve ran his thumb over her knuckles. “I promise,” he matched her quiet tone. 

“I’m holding you to that,” Martha told him. She smirked, “Don’t expect me to become a weaver while you’re away.”

Steve put his other hand to his chest as he laughed. “Don’t worry. No weaving required.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that settled, we really need to sleep. Good night Steve.”

He let go of her hand and she slithered back down onto the mattress. “Good night Martha,” he said over the creak of the pull out. 

They spent the next day, Christmas Eve, puttering about the cottage. Steve chopped the remainder of the logs and made a sizeable amount of firewood while Martha saw fit to clean parts of the house and make it more habitable. Around lunchtime, Martha ventured out into town and returned with two fish and chip meals wrapped in newsprint.

“ _ This _ is how you’re supposed to eat chips,” she told him, unwrapping the paper on the kitchen table.

He turned from rinsing their breakfast dishes and then dried his hands. He popped one of the chips in his mouth, leaned back against the counter, and crossed his arms over his chest as he chewed. Then, he gave a disinterested shrug and said, “It’s all right. Needs ketchup.”

“No!” Martha balled up a napkin and tossed it at him. He threw his head back in laughter. “Salt and vinegar! The only other acceptable condiment for chips is curry.”

“What about curry ketchup?” he suggested. “That’s a thing I’ve seen around Brooklyn.”

“Blasphemy!” she gasped and he laughed even harder. “We’ll have no future together at all if you go in for something as monstrous as curry ketchup.”

“Oh come on! Where’s your sense of adventure? It might be amazing.”

“I am  _ plenty _ adventurous, thank you,” she objected, moving around him to retrieve glasses from the cupboard. “Just last night I turned my grandad’s cottage into a safe house for the world’s number one fugitive. Even gave my heart to said fugitive.”

“You did? That is pretty adventurous,” he said with a flicker of a smile. 

“Mmm, I’d say so.” Martha set the glasses on the counter and looked up at him, “But I think I need just a little bit more adventure.” 

She stretched up on her toes, leaning against him for balance, then pressed her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and warm and Steve took hold of Martha’s arms to pull her in closer. She felt her cheeks flush warm. He felt his pulse quicken.

They broke apart to breathe but Steve kept Martha held close against him. She dropped back to flat footed then laid her hands on his broad chest. 

She gave a breathy chuckle. “Did I ever tell you about the time I snogged a fugitive in my grandad’s cottage?”

He cleared his throat, “I think I heard that somewhere. You might be  _ too _ adventurous for me.” 

Martha laughed, “Says the man who’s fought Nazis, aliens, assassins, a robot army, and half of his own team.” She jerked her head toward the table. “Come on, tea’s getting cold.”

They spent the rest of the day and into the evening looking through the cottage and excavating the life of Martha’s grandparents. Her grandmother had died when she was a teenager so there were no real surprising finds there but, in her grandfather’s closet, Martha found a photo album she had never seen. 

She gingerly turned the pages of the photo book and told Steve the story of her family. She told him of her grandparents’ whirlwind romance, which was a common enough tale from the days of the war, but with the power of her voice and the words she chose, Martha brought her grandparents back to life with her story. 

Steve sat beside her, mesmerized and enchanted. Listening to her, he forgot about the Sokovia Accords, forgot about his brawl with Tony, forgot that he was technically a criminal on the run. For those hours spent next to Martha, side by side on her grandfather’s bed, looking at photos and sharing a blanket for warmth, her voice became his entire world. The sound of it was a balm that began to heal him from the inside, smoothing out the nicks and scrapes of his soul, knitting together the tattered pieces and remaking him into something close to whole.

He remembered her tattoo and what she’d told him it meant. Yashal. She kindled a fire within him and brought light to his dark places. She brought him hope. It twisted his guts into knots to think about leaving her in the morning.

Catching him staring at her, Martha stopped abruptly.

“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Not at all. I’m just… I don’t know,” he trailed off lamely. 

Seeming to understand something he himself did not comprehend, Martha took Steve’s hand in hers and gave him a compassionate look. Tomorrow he returned to the war but tonight was all he had left to make memories of things that were soft and comforting and good.

“That’s enough out of me,” she said. “You’re probably tired of hearing me drone on. Let’s go see if we can find some playing cards. Grandad was a Solitaire fiend so I know there’s a pack around here somewhere.”

They found a deck in the office and played various games late into the night, even attempting to build a house of cards. After their efforts failed spectacularly a dozen times in a row, Steve and Martha called it quits and reluctantly headed for bed. 

Christmas Day dawned cold with a bright, clear sky. Neither Steve nor Martha spoke for a long time, not wanting to bring attention to the moment Steve would have to go. They shuffled quietly through the morning routine of breakfast and washing dishes before Steve went to his bag and retrieved a manila envelope.

“Um, Martha,” he said shyly, “Merry Christmas.” He extended his hand and held out the envelope he’d taken from his bag.    
  
“What’s this?” she asked, accepting what he offered. 

As she opened it, he said, “I’ve held onto some of these for awhile. After the partnership between U.N.I.T. and S.H.I.E.L.D. dissolved, I didn’t know where to send them. But I’d gotten into the habit of buying them and just sort of kept looking for them whenever we went on a mission. I’ve kept it up since I’ve been, well...”   
  
Martha looked through the dozen or so postcards and her smile brightened the room. Niagara Falls. Havana. Tokyo. Sydney. Oslo. On each of them he’d scrawled,  _ “Wish you were here.” _ At the bottom of the stack were three postcard size pieces of paper. Steve had covered one side of them with a scenic drawing. On the other side, he’d included the location and  _ “No souvenir shop. Wish you were here.” _  It was at these hand drawn cards that Martha felt a lump in her throat.  

“For a long time now,” Steve said solemnly, “I’ve pretty much just kept my eyes on the mission ahead. I’ve dismissed whatever my heart might be saying, sacrificed any feelings I had for the sake of the mission. Since I came out of the ice, the mission is all I’ve known. But you’ve given me something else to think about, more specifically you’ve given me a future to think about instead of continuing to live in the past.

“Ahem,” Martha cleared her throat. “Thank you Steve,” she held one of his hands and gave it a squeeze. “I, uh, have something for you too.” 

Martha left the room and came back a few minutes later, her left hand balled into a fist. She held it out to him and he extended his hand to receive the item. Martha opened her fingers and a key on a length of twine dropped into the palm of his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining the bits of metal and circuitry soldered to the otherwise ordinary looking silver key. 

“This,” she explained, “is how I walked the world for the Doctor. It’s a perception filter. It makes you well, not invisible exactly, but unremarkable. People know that you’re there but the filter makes them not want to know and, unless you draw attention to yourself, you’ll go unnoticed. Even when you’re disguised and in stealth mode you’re still a ridiculously attractive man and it makes you stand out in a crowd. This will help with that, help you evade the authorities when you need to. Or, help you avoid Tony’s team if they come looking for you.”

“Martha, this is…” Steve was at a loss for words as he turned the key over in his fingers. 

“Now this is just a loan, mind,” Martha pointed at him. “I expect you to return this to me when this whole debacle is over.”

Steve grinned. “Yes ma’am.”

Martha took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. “Right, that’s enough of that. I’m not trying to get rid of you by any means but it’s probably time you were off.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Steve agreed solemnly and began to gather his things.

Ten minutes later, standing at the open front door of the cottage, Martha asked Steve, “Are you sure you don’t need some company on this adventure of yours? You and me against the world...we could do some amazing things.”

Steve’s response sent a plume of white breath into the cold December air. “I’d be happy to have you but I’d rather you stay far away from this mess. Besides, you already walked the world once. Now it’s my turn.”

Martha tugged the sleeves of her purple jumper over her hands to protect them from the cold. She looked down at her feet and shifted her weight. They were only prolonging the inevitable but saying goodbye was proving difficult. 

“I gave you the address here, right? That way you can find your way back if you need a safe house?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“And you have the U.N.I.T. encrypted mobile?”

“In my bag.”

“And you’ll use it to call me if you need help? Or if not me, at the very least, you’ll reach out to Sam or Clint or someone?”

“I will.”

Martha bounced on her toes and sprang forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “Be safe. Save the world. Send me a postcard,” she whispered. 

Steve slid his arms around her waist and hugged her tight. He felt her trembling in his embrace and wondered if it was the cold or something else that made her shake.

Martha touched her lips to his cheek, in the same place she’d kissed before, deepening that point of contact that he held so dear, and then dropped her arms from his neck. She had taken two steps backwards out of Steve’s embrace before he suddenly reeled her in again and pressed his mouth to hers. Throwing herself into the kiss, Martha entangled her arms around him again and he held her close. 

When the kiss ended, Martha took a deep breath and exhaled, “ _Definitely_ worth waiting for. Ithaca eagerly awaits your return.”

Wordlessly, Steve slipped his hand into hers and gave her cold fingers a gentle squeeze. He took a step toward the porch stairs, keeping eye contact with her as he moved away. 

Standing in the front garden, Steve took one last long parting glance, said, “I’ll see you soon,” and tugged the key she’d given him over his neck.


	15. New Year's Eve II

“No Tish, I’m fine. I don’t need to go partying with you this evening. In any case, I’m not even in London,” Martha climbed out of her car and pulled her bag out of the backseat.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Grandad’s.”

“Oh god, you’ve not gone off to mope about Captain America have you? It’s almost been a year since you left New York. It’d be well past time for you to get over him, even if he wasn’t a fugitive.”

“No, I’m not moping,” Martha said emphatically. She hadn’t told her sister about Steve’s visit the previous week. “I just wanted some peace and quiet and I wasn’t going to get that in London on New Year’s Eve. Now off you get. Go have fun. Be safe. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“OK, fine,” Tish sighed. “Love you. Happy New Year.”

“Love you too and a happy New Year as well. Oi! Wait! Don’t forget to call Mum.”

“I won’t!” Tish exclaimed and then the call ended.

Martha pushed open the door of the cottage and dropped her knapsack onto the floor before tossing her keys onto the side table. She pushed the door closed with her foot then bent to pick up the mail that had dropped through the letterbox. Much of the post that had accumulated over the week since Christmas amounted to nothing more than fliers and junk but she found two postcards waiting for her. 

Holding the postcard in one hand and the junk mail in the other Martha moved straight to the bin and tossed the unimportant leaflets and sale bills before scampering into the living room and flinging herself onto the sofa with the giggling excitement of a teenager.

The first one she looked at was a bright yellow postcard from Frankfurt and had six tiled photos of landmark buildings in the city. The standard “Wish you were here” was scrawled on the opposite side. 

The second postcard took her by surprise. It was Van Gogh’s  _ Starry Night Over the Rhône _ . Martha studied the image intently, drinking in the work of the beloved artist, before she flipped it over to read the back. She was surprised to find an additional inscription to the one Steve usually wrote on his postcards. This one read, “‘All the stars in all the sky they burn for you. All the stars in all the sky they’ll see you through.’ Wish you were here.”

Smiling stupidly, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine then returned to the living room, dragging her knapsack with her. From the bag, she pulled out her U.N.I.T. grade laptop and sipped at her wine while she waited for it to boot up. Once she’d connected it to the secure internet hot spot, she opened a TOR browser and opened her encrypted email account.

_ 31-Dec 21:39 _

_ To: Nobody _

_ From: Penelope _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ So, Dorothy...have you learned the lesson yet? Clicking your heels won’t bring you home if you haven’t learned the lesson. _

 

_ 31-Dec 21:42 _

_ To: Penelope _

_ From: Nobody _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ I know the lesson. ‘If i ever go looking for my hearts desire i won’t go looking any further than my own backyard.’ I know the lesson and i know my hearts desire is wiht you not...where i am. But the clicking still doesnt work. _

 

_ 31-Dec 21:43 _

_ To: Nobody _

_ From: Penelope _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ Keep clicking. Those shoes are bound to bring you home sooner or later.  _

 

_ 31-Dec 21:45 _

_ To: Nobody _

_ From: Penelope _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ It’s still a bit early here but...Happy New Year. _

 

_ 31-Dec 21:51 _

_ To: Penelope _

_ From: Nobody _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ Happy new year.  _

 

_ 31-Dec 21:53 _

_ To: Penelope _

_ From: Nobody _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ Wish you were here _

 

Attached to the second email was a photo of one of his sketches. It was a drawing of a serene forest waterfall.

 

_ 31-Dec 21:55 _

_ To: Nobody _

_ From: Penelope _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ Me too. Promise me...next NYE, you’ll be here to kiss me at midnight. _

 

_ 31-Dec 21:56 _

_ To: Penelope _

_ From: Nobody _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ Promise _

 

_ 31-Dec 22:01 _

_ To: Nobody _

_ From: Penelope _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ What was the inscription on the Van Gogh you sent? It’s familiar but I can’t place it. _

 

_ 31-Dec 22:15 _

_ To: Penelope  _

_ From: Nobody _

_ Subject: (no subject) _

_ I heard you sing it. Labor Day before the game. it stuck with me i guess. Seemed fitting somehow.  _

_ Talk later _ .

 

Martha drained her glass of wine and closed the laptop. They had determined a protocol before he left. The emails were for quick correspondence only, for emergencies or a brief check-in, but she had been overwhelmed by his absence. Her insides ached with emptiness. She had been haunted by the memory of the previous year. Standing outside Tony’s mansion and, under sparkling showers of gold and silver, realizing she loved him. 

She returned to the kitchen and poured herself another glass of wine. She leaned against the sink, remembering how she’d surprised him with a kiss there just a week earlier. 

The new year would shortly arrive and Martha made her resolution. Love would fill the lonely hours of waiting. Like Penelope. Like her gran waiting for Grandad to come home from the war. She would be better in the future, stronger. Patience would become her ally. 

But that was for the new year to come. In the meantime, in the final hours of the old year, she would drink her wine and long for the love she missed.


	16. Summer Bank Holiday (U.K.) II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after the end of whatever happens in the _Infinity Wars_ when, presumably, the heroes have earned a bit of a happily ever after.

“Leo, can you come take these books and put them in the charity bin?!” Martha shouted from her seat on the floor of her grandfather’s office. 

Tish appeared a few moments later and told her sister, “Leo went to take a load of stuff down to recycling. He’s gonna grab us some takeaway on his way back. Need some help?”

Martha’s face contorted in consideration. “I really loaded it up. I yelled for Leo because I think it’s too heavy for us to carry, especially trying to navigate the stairs.”

Tish shrugged. “Eh, it’ll keep until he gets back. Though we can always hope some big muscle bound stranger will come and do the heavy lifting for us,” she held up a paperback romance novel that had belonged to their grandmother and raised her eyebrows. “Why on earth did this not go with the rest of the donations?”

Martha’s cheeks felt warm. “Because after all of the medical and science jargon I read day in and day out, I need to turn off my brain. Trashy romances are good for that.”

“Your brain might not come back on if you keep reading this junk,” Tish scoffed. “I’m gonna go downstairs and start work on the kitchen stuff. All right with you if I take Gran’s cast iron? You never cook anyway.”

“Ask Leo before you take it but you’re all right on my end,” Martha said. Tish departed and she turned her attention back to the checkerboard of books stacked on the floor around her. They were keeping plenty, mainly the things with sentimental value. The rest would go to the local library or a secondhand shop.

It had taken an act of God to get Tish and Leo to agree to spend their three day weekend helping Martha clear out their Grandfather’s cottage of its unneeded and unwanted things but it had been well past time to do it. Martha had plans to slowly make the cottage her own and she couldn’t move on to those plans until she put away someone else’s past. 

On top of one of the stacks, Martha found her grandfather’s ancient copy of  _ The Odyssey _ and she ran her hand over the worn and tattered cover. She looked over at the empty leather chair and her mind filled it with the apparition of Steve, sitting quietly and turning the pages of the book she held. She allowed herself the moment of reverie and then put the book aside. She stood and looked down at the overfull box of donation books and muttered aloud, “Right. Let’s get you downstairs.”

 

* * *

Steve knocked at the door of the cottage. 

There were several boxes stacked on the porch and for a moment Steve feared Martha had sold her grandfather’s home and the boxes belonged to the new owners moving in. The door swung open and, from the photos he’d seen, Steve recognized Martha’s sister Tish standing before him.

“Whatever you’re selling, we’re not in the market to buy,” she said, eyeing him from head to toe.

“No ma’am, I’m not selling anything. Is Martha here?” Steve asked. 

Tish flashed him a wary expression and it suddenly occurred to Steve how he looked. Hair too long, a dark beard covering his face, worn jeans and a tight t-shirt damp with summer sweat. He would’ve been wary of him too.

Without taking her eyes off him, Tish turned her head to the side and yelled into the house, “Martha, there’s some white boy here to see you!” 

Tish didn’t invite him in so Steve stood waiting on the porch. From the threshold, he heard the creak of the upstairs floorboards followed by heavy, laborious footsteps.

A few moments later, he saw Martha slowly descending the stairs, struggling with a large box. He noticed she could barely see over the top of it.

“What are you shouting about?” she puffed out the question to her sister.

“I said there’s some white boy here to see you.”

“Who...is...it?” Martha breathed heavily.

“Do you need a hand with that?” Steve asked from the doorway. Martha froze and then suddenly the box came crashing to the floor with a cacophonous thud.

“Jesus, Martha!” Tish exclaimed, “You nearly put a hole in the bleeding floor! I know you’re after a bit of remodeling but that’s not the way to do it.”

Martha paid no attention to her sister and instead stared ahead at the man at the door. He had a beard now and his hair was longer than she’d ever seen but it was him.

“You’re really here?” she asked in a quiet, shaking voice.

“I’m really here,” he answered in the same hushed tone. 

A beat of silence hovered in the air before Martha finally said, “It’s about time!” and rushed down the last few stairs and across the living room, leaping over the fallen box of books. 

Steve brushed past Tish and into the cottage, ready to catch Martha as she bounded into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight, letting out a sort of laughing sob as she clung him. The tips of her toes barely brushed the floor as she hugged him for dear life.

“You have a  _ beard _ ,” she said, giggling.

“Yeah, I do,” Steve chuckled, pulling her so close he could almost feel the beat of her heart against his chest. He knew he’d never be able to put into words just how good it felt  to hold her in that moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid-“

“No, no, it’s not a bad thing. I quite like it actually.” Martha loosened her grip so that she could tilt back and look at his face. “I’ve just never kissed such a beardy man before,” she told him and pressed her lips to his. 

As the kiss deepened, they were interrupted by a pointed “Ahem” from Tish. Martha pulled away and cut a hateful glare to her sister. Steve reluctantly relinquished his hold on Martha and she begrudgingly slipped her arms from around his neck.

Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry for barging in like that.” He extended his hand, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

Tish slowly accepted the handshake. “Kinda guessed that,” she said, “what with you making out with my sister and everything. I didn’t recognize you without the spangly costume.”

An awkward silence hovered between the three of them before Tish said, “Right then, I’m gonna go. I can amuse myself down at the shops for awhile. Just put a sock on the doorknob or something ‘cause Leo will be coming back soon.”

“No!” Steve and Martha said in unison. “It’s not like that,” Steve stated. “Not yet anyway,” Martha added, eyeing him suggestively. He chuckled and gave her a slow smile.

“You’re obviously in the middle of something and I interrupted. Sorry, I should have called first. I just wanted to surprise Martha,” Steve apologized. “What can I do to help?”

“Steve, you don’t have to-“ Martha began but she was interrupted by Tish speaking over her, “That box needs carrying out.”

With a nod, Steve went and effortlessly lifted the box of books Martha had sent tumbling and headed to the door. 

“I’ll call Leo, tell him to get more food,” Tish said and pulled her mobile out of her pocket. 

Martha followed Steve outside. She leaned against the window and told him, “I can send my brother and sister packing if you’d rather be alone.”

“Oh believe me, I’d definitely like to be alone with you,” Steve set the box down on the porch, “but I’m not in any hurry. As far as I’m concerned, we have all the time in the world.”

“Still, you don’t have to help us with the cottage. You can take things easy. I’m sure you had rough seas sailing back to Ithaca.” Martha reached out and ran her hand along his arm. She needed to feel the warmth of his skin, to reassure herself that he was still there. 

To Steve, her touch felt like a balm, as if she were healing the pain of his weariness and unseen wounds. Craving more contact, Steve put one hand to the nape of her neck and slipped the other around her waist.

“Right now it doesn’t matter to me where we are or what we’re doing or who’s with us. All I want is to be with you, to hear your voice when it’s not over a phone, to see you without a screen. I just want to be in the same room with you for the first time in forever,” he told her softly.

Martha stretched up on her toes and pulled him in for a kiss. It was hungrier than before, as if she were starved for him and could not get her fill. 

A car horn suddenly blared from the driveway and Martha, gasping, jumped out of Steve’s arms. She looked to the source of the noise and saw her brother Leo standing outside the car, holding a plastic bag full of takeaway. He closed the car door, slipped the keys into his pocket, and strode toward the cottage.

“So this thing of snogging random blokes, is that a habit you picked up in America or from some weirdo planet?” Leo asked.

Martha rolled her eyes. “Leo, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, this annoying pest is my little brother Leo.”

Leo shook Steve’s outstretched hand. “Yeah, Captain America. Tish told me he was here. Wow. I know you could kick my arse and all, but I’m still obligated to ask… Just exactly what are your intentions toward my sister?”

“Oh stop it!” Martha shouted and gave her brother a shove. “ _ I’ll _ kick your arse before he ever gets the chance.”

Leo laughed as he headed inside and Martha gave a long suffering sigh. She turned back to Steve. “Come on,” she slipped her hand into his and led him back into the cottage.

They ate dinner in the kitchen surrounded by open cupboards and stacks of pots, pans, skillets, and dishes. Tish and Leo were welcoming, if slightly wary of Steve, though that didn’t stop them from telling him embarrassing stories about Martha in her youth. He laughed goodnaturedly at their banter and as the meal went on he found himself welcomed into their camaraderie. 

After dinner, it was decided that Leo and Tish would go back to London instead of staying another night as planned. As they gathered the items of their grandparents that they wished to keep, Martha excused herself to go call Kate Stuart so that she could use some of her accrued vacation to take off the rest of the week following the bank holiday. While Martha wrangled with the administrative details, Steve helped Tish carry a load of items out to the car.

“She really cares about you, you know?” Tish said, fiddling with the ring of keys in her hands. “Like, the way she talks about you makes it pretty obvious. She’s been to the moon and everything but I’m pretty sure she thinks you hung it there. And not because you’re a superhero but because she likes who you are.”

Not knowing what to say yet, Steve put his hands in his pockets and opened himself up to listen to what Tish had to say. 

She continued, solemnly,  “She said she told you about The Year. That’s pretty big. They were engaged to be married but she never told Tom about The Year. She seems to trust you in a way she doesn’t trust most people. A thing you have to know about Martha is that she’s not like me and Leo or even our parents. We’re all selfish and we bicker and fight and take from one another but Martha is the giver. With Tom, even with the Doctor, I watched her give and give and make sacrifice after sacrifice for someone else’s benefit until she was practically empty and had to walk away. She’d do the same for you too but don’t let her. 

“She’s waited for you for awhile now. Make sure you’re worthy of that. Make sure you’re worthy of the love that she’s giving you.”

Steve took Tish’s words to heart. “I hope I can be,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat and told Tish, “I care about Martha a lot. When I met her, the attack on New York had just happened and I was still really lost, still trying to find out my place in a world that felt so alien to me. Martha helped me figure out where I belonged. She helped me become Steve Rogers again and not just Captain America. It’s like the  _ Wizard of Oz _ ; I was in black and white and she brought me into Technicolor.”

A small smile curled at the edges of Tish’s mouth. “She told me about the  _ Wizard of Oz _ thing you two had going on. It’s cute.”

Leo approached the two of them then. “So, uh, I think we should get some things straight about you and Martha,” he said in a tough tone.

Tish put a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “It’s okay Leo. I already gave him the once over. He’s cool. Did you say goodbye to Martha?”

“Yeah and she’s got her vacation days sorted,” Leo replied.

“Good. Well now we’ll get out of your hair and let you get on with...whatever. Come on Leo, let’s hit the road. Bet you’re looking forward to sleeping in your own bed with your wife instead of on that awful pull out.”

“Too right,” Leo agreed, taking the keys his sister handed to him, and moved to get into the driver’s side of the car.

Steve took a step back and watched Tish climb into the passenger seat. She gave him a little wave and he returned it as the car backed out of the driveway. He stood alone in the gathering dusk of the hot summer night, wrestling with his thoughts. A part of him was nervous to go back inside. He’d marched across enemy lines in Nazi Germany but he was more afraid of walking twenty steps to an English cottage. 

What if everything was different between them now? What if he had changed too much since he’d been away? What if they couldn’t make things work? A million other ‘what ifs’ sped through his mind before he found his courage and strode back into the house.

Inside he found Martha in the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest, hovering near the coffeemaker. She was tapping her foot impatiently.

“I’m adding ‘new coffeemaker’ to the list of things I need to get for this place,” she said. “This one takes forever.”

Steve leaned against the counter beside her and joined in her vigil. When the coffeemaker sputtered to a stop, he pulled two mugs from the cabinet and placed them on the counter. They did an absentminded dance as Martha retrieved the sugar and Steve went to the fridge for milk. She handed him the mug with plain black coffee in it, took a minute to prepare hers how she liked it, and then, almost as an afterthought pulled a pack of biscuits out of the pantry as she ushered Steve into the living room. 

He settled on one end of the sofa and left the other open for her. He watched as she leaned against the sofa arm, curling her legs beneath her, and laid the biscuits on the center cushion within easy reach of them both. 

“So,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “Who wants to start?”

“Uh, you. Obviously,” she scoffed. “Whatever trouble you’ve gotten into is bound to be a million times more interesting than what I’ve been doing. How’s Clint, Sam, everyone? Am I ever going to get to meet Bucky? I’m anxious to meet him after all you’ve told me about him.”

Steve thought to himself that he would have been happy just to hear her read a year’s worth of grocery lists. It didn’t matter what she told him or how boring it might be. He just wanted to hear her speak, to have the sound of her voice lull the disquieted pieces of himself. But she’d wanted to hear from him first so he began to tell her everything.

The last time he had been at the cottage, he had told her of the civil war that had fractured the Avengers. Now, over a couple pots of coffee, he told her of his nomadic life in the intervening months. He told her of Thanos and the Infinity Gauntlet. So much had happened since he’d seen her last.

Martha asked questions when necessary but she mostly listened. Like so many of their long nights in Jason’s diner, she listened to him explain his life and his missions and his struggles. Then, after he’d talked for hours, she said quietly, “Tell me something real about you.”

Steve fell silent and pondered for a several long moments. 

“Something real,” he murmured. He rested his arm on the back of the sofa and let the tips of his fingers brush against Martha’s.

“I remember the morning I let myself love you.”

Her voice was thick with emotion when she said, “You do?”

He nodded slowly. “The morning after Clint’s Halloween party. You spent hours telling me all about the Doctor and the Year and then we went to the diner for breakfast. On the way there, you were educating me on glam rock and teasing me for getting misty eyed during some movie-“

“ _ Dumbo _ ,” she interrupted. “It was  _ Dumbo _ .”

“ _ Dumbo _ ,” he said and then continued, “It was somewhere on that walk that I realized I wanted to spend every minute of my day listening to you talk and tell stories. That was the morning when I went from caring about you as a friend and started wanting something more. But because I didn’t learn my lesson the first time around, I waited too late to say anything.”

“It’s not too late,” Martha said, threading a couple of her fingers through his. “You’re here now so it’s not too late. But I bet the nudging from Barton and the rest only made you dig in your heels, didn’t it?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, it did a bit.”

Their long silences had transitioned back to comfortable and they found they once again felt at home in each other’s company. Finally, Steve quietly said, “It’s your turn. Tell me something real about you.”

“I don’t remember when I fell in love with you exactly but I remember the moment I realized it.” 

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice was calm but he felt his heart in in throat.

“New Year’s Eve, at Tony’s mansion,” she told him. “We were outside on the patio, watching the fireworks, and you were carrying on with Tony and Clint about Thor’s hammer and why he’s the only one who can wield it. You were so animated in your conversation with them and I was so amused with the three of you. But I remember looking up at you then and realizing that my heart wasn’t my own anymore. Without knowing, I had given it to you somewhere along the way. And I wanted so much to tell you but since I was leaving soon it didn’t seem to matter.”

Steve thought for a moment before he asked, “If you’d known how I felt, would you have stayed in New York?”

Martha considered his question. “Maybe. I would have tried, at least. I would’ve probably put in for a position with S.H.I.E.L.D..” 

Steve scoffed, “Probably best that you didn’t, given that S.H.I.E.L.D. was actually Hydra.” 

“Fair point. Though I could always have gotten a hospital job. It’s been awhile since I’ve just practiced medicine. Might be a nice change of pace.” 

Martha’s expression changed suddenly. She gestured to the window where the light was changing to a cold grey tinged with gold. “Oh wow, the sun is already coming up. I can’t believe we talked through the night. Again.”

Steve smiled. “It does seem to be a habit of ours.”

Martha groaned loudly. “Ugh, the upstairs beds are covered with junk and I’m too tired to deal with it. We can kip here for now,” she said and moved to pull out the sofa bed. Steve pulled out the frame and Martha wandered off to find pillows. 

When she returned, she asked, “You’re not going to sleep on the floor again, are you?”

“No.” Then he quickly added, “If it’s alright with you, of course.”

She grinned, “It’s alright with me.” She pointed a finger at him and teased, “Just no funny business, mister.”

Steve chuckled. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Which side do you want?”

“I’ll take the left.”

They settled onto the pull out bed and both fell asleep within minutes. When Steve awoke later, he saw the clock on the mantel told him it was just after eleven a.m. They had been asleep about five hours. 

He considered going back to sleep for a little while longer but he found himself captivated by the way the light played across Martha’s face. He wanted to draw what was before him but he didn’t want to disturb the scene. So he studied her face and the light in detail so he might put it to paper later.

Several minutes later, Martha awoke with a stretch. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes then blinked several times and let her vision come to focus on him.

“Hi,” she greeted sleepily. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” he said softly, still trying to preserve the bubble around them.

Her brows knitted as she told him, “You look serious. Something on your mind?” She reached out her hand and laid it on his shoulder. He plucked the hand from its resting place and held it in his own.

“Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“You’ll think it’s silly,” he stated, turning his eyes away from her gaze.

A lazy smile spread across Martha’s face. “Try me.”

“It’s just...when I woke up here, with you, something came to mind,” Steve said.

“And that was?” she gave him a nudge.

He threaded his fingers through hers then looked up to meet her eyes. “It’s just, the first thing I thought was, there’s no place like home.”

 

**THE END**


End file.
